


So I Married A... Werewolf

by Still_beating_heart



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Accidental Pregnancy, Alternate Universe, Aren't they cute?, But it's cool because the whole pack is here for it, But not canon level trauma, But only lightly mentioned, Derek is a girl for awhile, Established Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Established Relationship, Everyone is Part of the Pack, Explicit Sexual Content, For his family of course, It'll wear off eventually, It's fiction that still needs mild trauma as background noise, M/M, Married Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, POV Stiles Stilinski, Post-Hale Fire (Teen Wolf), Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Read chapter notes and warnings for descriptions, Sexswap, Stiles Stilinski Accepts The Bite, Stiles Stilinski Wants The Bite, The canon deaths didn't happen, Via potion, and puppies, the whole damn thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-02-24 03:07:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 40,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23002891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Still_beating_heart/pseuds/Still_beating_heart
Summary: Chapter 1: Mostly smut featuring bottom Derek.Chapter 2: Oops, Stiles pissed off the wrong witch...Chapter 3: Being a girl is hard work.Chapter 4: Birth control?  Why would... oh, shit.Chapter 5: Pups.  No wait, that's not right.  Babies!Chapter 6: Parenting isn't that bad after all.Chapter 7: There is one thing that could make this even better.Chapter 8: One big happy werewolf family.----------“Every marriage has an adjustment period Stiles, you’re not special,” was what Lydia told him.“Well when your mom and I first got married,” was what Dad told him.  And a whole lot more, but it was more like adjusting to each other’s parents and how to split up the holidays and learning things you didn’t know before you got married like the bad habits that they kept hidden or the things they didn’t keep hidden, the partner just didn’t know them until they moved in together like all those old fashioned people did.  It didn’t exactly involve any of the things happening in ‘the adjustment period’ between Stiles and werewolf husband.----------
Relationships: Derek Hale & Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 34
Kudos: 109





	1. Not Gonna Lie, Saw That One Coming

**Author's Note:**

> Please tell me you've seen So I Married An Axe Murderer! Not that this has anything to do with that, I just ripped off the title :) I wouldn't be surprised if I was not the first person to do that.
> 
> Derek has already achieved full shift. I am using some canon storylines as background noise and I am using an OC villain storyline that is mostly just for humor/drama instead of trauma.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I married a werewolf... not gonna lie, saw that one coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First chapter is about some adjustment period in a marriage - like Stiles and Derek would have a normal marriage? So established relationship, there may or may not be some allusions to some underaged feelings that were not acted on.
> 
> EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT WARNING 
> 
> DEREK'S FIRST TIME BOTTOMING

Not Gonna Lie, Saw That One Coming

“Every marriage has an adjustment period Stiles, you’re not special,” was what Lydia told him.

“Well when your mom and I first got married,” was what Dad told him. And a whole lot more, but it was more like adjusting to each other’s parents and how to split up the holidays and learning things you didn’t know before you got married like the bad habits that they kept hidden or the things they didn’t keep hidden, the partner just didn’t know them until they moved in together like all those old fashioned people did. It didn’t exactly involve any of the things happening in ‘the adjustment period’ between Stiles and werewolf husband. 

Not that they didn’t know each other’s bad habits, there’s no adjustment there. Stiles knows Derek’s, um, Derek’s, well, Derek has bad habits too! Okay? He does. They’re just hidden under his perfect looks and broodywolf attitude and obsessively clean house. The house he had built by the old Hale house but not in the exact spot because who would want to live on the burned remains of the house where their entire family died? Died because of, well, okay, so maybe there’s a bad habit. Or is it a bad habit when it’s just bad people that just seem to find their way to Derek and use him to get to his family? Or his family’s vault? Or his alpha status? Or his pack? Or bring an alpha pack of terror raining down on them? Or, okay, so maybe Derek needs to stop falling in love with vicious women. 

Derek hasn’t fallen in love with vicious women. Not for a long time. So it doesn’t really count currently. 

Derek has bad habits. He does.

But there’s the whole ‘remember when I was possessed by an evil fox demon?’ Now, that, that would be an adjustment for anyone outside the pack. That would cause a normal person some stress probably when Stiles still wakes sometimes in the clutches of nightmares. Soothed back to sleep easily by strong arms and gentle coos. Yes, coos. Derek can coo. Or whatever it’d be called when a wolf does it while nudging into his mate’s neck and listening intently for heart beats to go back to normal and for the smell of fear to clear the air. 

That might be an adjustment that a normal person couldn’t handle. 

So yeah, Stiles thinks their adjustment period is a little special. Not that those nightmares weren’t there before they got married. Along with all the fidgeting and random thought threads that move through the air like cartoon dialogue bubbles before they drift away with the sound of the little stream outside the door of the house. Cabin. It’s really more like a cabin. Near the old Hale house but far enough away that they can’t even see the old remains of the place. They just know that they are there, and the presence of Derek’s childhood is close enough that if he wants to brood around near the old chimney stones and feel bad about his whole family being dead, then he doesn’t have to go very far. But it’s not right there, like right there in a heavy grey cloud that sits over their house. Cabin.

So the cabin is in a grove of maples and a creek runs through the yard. Because Derek said he found the place when he was a kid and he used to come here to be alone. Weird, even little baby Derek liked being alone. Shocking. Well, then he said after the first time Stiles spent the night at his loft, that when Stiles is asleep he sounds like breeze through maples and a babbling brook. Those were the exact words. So the place Derek used to like being alone when he was a kid and the way his mate sounds when he sleeps. Voilà. Now, two months into their marriage, here they are. Living in a cabin on a green slope of grass in the woods not far from Derek’s family home, not far from the Nemeton, where it sounds like Stiles does when he sleeps.

There are berry bushes all over the place, Derek likes to feed the birds. Who knew? And ever since he achieved full shift after the lightning bird and the white witch who left silver veins in his pretty blue eyes, he spends a lot of time running around in the woods. Maybe chasing squirrels. Or butterflies. And sometimes he’s just lying on his side in the sun when Stiles comes home from class. Lazy bastard. 

Oh, and that silver vein is in his human eyes. Three actually. Three veins. One in his right. Two in his left. So the whole, ‘silver makes werewolves stronger and they spread the rumor that it was the only thing that could kill them’ was mostly right. The silver that the witch clawed into Derek’s heart made him stronger. Strong enough to achieve full shift. Or maybe he was strong enough to do that already, he just needed the push. Or something.

Hey, that’s something that normals couldn’t handle in the adjustment period. But it doesn’t exactly count as a bad habit. Not when he’s running around in the woods as a wolf. Or flashing silvery blue eyes at Stiles when he comes. Yeah, they flash more often than that, like when he’s angry. Angry, like too angry to keep his human eyes. And of course they stay that way when he shifts. But Stiles likes to call them his O-eyes. Since he doesn’t really make an O-face. Which was rather disappointing when Stiles first got the man to look right at him while he was coming down his throat and nope, no O-face. Nothing to write home about. Not that he’d write home about his husband’s O’s but what is that expression anyway? 

Stiles’ O-faces are terrible. He’s certain of it.

Is Derek’s obsession with eating a balanced diet a bad habit? Like obsessed to a point where they can’t even go to a restaurant without Derek being insanely annoying about running down the menu and talking about the plus/minus column for each and every food item on it, and it ends in him basically just giving them such ridiculous directions for his food that he tips them before it’s even made because he knows he’s an asshole and no one wants to serve him? Unless they’re getting paid well for it. That is. 

That’s not really a bad habit. Stiles supposes. He’s got a pretty hot bod now. Stiles does! He does. The way Derek looks at him is a pretty damn clear indicator. Though he’s pretty sure Derek has always looked at him like that, he just did a better job of looking away before Stiles could see it before. 

And a good diet. Balanced fiber. Yeah, it has it’s pluses. So sure, at the start of a butt fucking relationship, douching is fine, great, it’s whatever, not the most pleasant but not the least pleasant and it’s nice to be clean and it’s polite to the partner but after awhile, let’s face it, people get lazy. Stiles. Stiles gets lazy. Whatever, fiber has it’s benefits. 

Not that it’s butt fucking all the time either. There’s also shared blowies and handies. And the occasional ‘hump Derek’s leg ’til Stiles spews’. Okay, so not that occasional. Really. Frot. Frottage. It has a name. Frottage and not the art technique kind. Nope, the whole ‘just add friction’ kind. 

Frot. 

Oh, shit, oh. Sudden movement. Oh, “I thought you were studying,” oh. Just Derek.

“I am studying,” motioning his head towards the book on the coffee table and the laptop in his lap. Yep, that’s why it’s called a laptop. 

And that, that whole sneekywolf thing, is something normals wouldn’t survive in the adjustment period.

“What kind of studying involves humping my leg?”

“I suppose biology. Or maybe human sexuality. Or anatomy.”

“I thought you were working on forensic science.”

“And I thought I was being quiet.”

“And you thought wrong.”

“And I thought you were out for a run.”

“I was,” he shrugs. Oh, and now Stiles can see the sweat making his t-shirt cling to his body.

“The two-legged kind of run.”

His eyebrows do that thing where he’s waiting for something dirty to come out of Stiles’ mouth next. It doesn’t. Ha! Point to Stiles. He shrugs again, takes a long drink of water. Stiles watches his mouth on the glass, then the tilt of his head, the way the water moves down his neck. His eyes trail over his chest were there is, in fact, a lot of sweaty cotton/poly/breathable fibered whatever sticking to his pecs. And nipples. There are nipples under there. And a rock hard twenty-four and three-quarters pack. Yeah, right, okay, so it’s only like eight or ten or something. Not that Stiles has spend an unquantifiable amount of time tracing over every single muscle with his fingertips and tongue and raking over that body with his eyes trying to decide where exactly each muscle ends and the next begins and if it is in fact possible to have more than an eight pack when there are technically only eight separate muscles in the center of the human abdominal wall. But if obliques and maybe the external intercostal muscles are counted in there, then sure, why not? Derek has like a twenty-pack. 

So all Derek has to do, is turn around, head towards the bathroom, show Stiles a glimpse of his ass in those running shorts that are not the actual short track shorts type running shorts, but still leave very little to the imagination; and Stiles blurts, “I wanna fuck you.”

And it kind of gasps out at the end because he’s never said that before and they’ve never done that before even if they’ve been together for um, maybe officially two years, but unofficially in love with each other for more like four or five or something, but either way, that’s never come out of his mouth before. And he’s not sure how Derek will react to it. It feels kind of, set in stone? No. Not really. So, the first time they fucked, it was Stiles who said something like, ‘I want your dick in my ass’ so it’s not exactly set in stone, but when he rubs his ass along Derek’s hard cock, well, it’s pretty obvious what his intentions are. So it’s not like it’s some complicated code either. 

“Like, put my cock in your asshole,” in case that wasn’t clear. And then his lip gets bitten. Hard. Hard enough that he nearly squeaks. 

And Derek? Super hard inhale, Derek? Derek?! He doesn’t even hesitate or stop his forward momentum towards the bathroom to wash all that delicious sweat off, “sure. Let me shower first.”

“No. No shower is,” it trails off, “is it? I mean, you don’t care if I shower, so why would I care if…” now his hands are wiping sweat off his palms on his jeans and he’s wondering how the hell he’s going to even get his dick anywhere near Derek’s ass without just splooging all over probably his hand first. Or maybe he’d make it as far as Derek’s asscheek before the gun went off in his hand. 

“I’m a wolf Stiles,” in response to not making Stiles shower. The bathroom door is left open. The shower announces itself in a watery blast, “you’ll care when your face is in my creamy ball bag.”

“Oh. That. Creamy. Nice. Nice as in gross Derek! Sweaty, sweaty would work!”

“Creamy is a better description for it at this point.”

“That’s just,” well, now that he’s thinking about it, it could be polite to wash his own ball bag before they do this. This! This, as in Stiles Stillinski doing Derek Hale in the butt. Stiles has always wanted all the sex. Every way, shape, form, and okay, so maybe not every shape or form because that would include beastiality in this particular case. Ooh, another thing that normals would never survive in the adjustment period. 

Oh wait, shit, now he has to give that point back to Derek since the next thing that came out of Stiles’ mouth was, in fact, dirty. Damn it. Point back to Hale. 

In the meantime, his hand has scooped under his balls, ran a finger up his groin and now is in his face for a good sniff test. Meh, not worth showering off. 

Naked fun time it is. 

If he can get his hands to stop shaking. 

“Derek?” his body won’t move off the couch. And his heart is in his throat.

“Take a breath Stiles. We’ve got all day.”

Oh, cool, he can hear him over the sound of the shower, down the hall a little bit. So the extra bedroom is an office, study thing. It’s across from the master bedroom. Part of the master bedroom. The master bedroom is fucking huge. And it’s got a moonroof. It’s all just glass between them and a view of the yard and sky. Stiles thought it would be hard to sleep with all of that. But it turns out, he sleeps like a damn baby most of the time. A baby who sleeps. Babies don’t really sleep, but yeah so that expression is kind of, well, maybe it’s the way babies sleep. Like when they’re so asleep that they pass the sleep test of picking up an arm and dropping it and they don’t even sigh over it. Or like the reflex test. Clap when a baby is sleeping. It’s funny. Tiny ninja hands. Yes, Stiles has been around babies before, okay? He’s just never been trusted to hold one. He has no idea why.

Anyway, the cabin is two stories and half basement with all the hot water heater and furnace and laundry stuff. What? Thought it was going to be for chaining up werewolves on full moons? Ha. 

Then there’s the main floor. Which is all open and just one big room. Kitchen, living space, all the space and things Derek could ever need to do pull-ups on. And push-ups. And all the other static exercising his heart could desire. Isometrics.

“You’re going to work out before we have sex?”

“No! That was in my head! Damn it,” damn it. It was.

“It wasn’t.”

Fine. It wasn’t. 

There’s another bedroom down there too. Well, since this bedroom is a study with a cot folded up in the corner, then it’s not another bedroom. It’s the bedroom. Guest. Guest bedroom. The guest bedroom. For when strays like Scott, Erica, Issac, Boyd, whoever. Wander their way into the Preserve and end up here. Or just end up here because it’s pack. Even if they’re a mildly less obsessed with each other style of pack than most packs are, they’re still a pack. But since Scott is Mr Natural Alpha and all, the pack meetings and stuff usually happen at his place. This is just a cabin in the woods. Next to a babbling brook and under a few maples. Whispering away in the night. And during the day. And sometimes howling. And…

“Stiles.”

Shower’s not going anymore. Shower is off. Stiles is moving now. He is. He is getting off the couch. And stretching. And wondering when the last time was he got off the couch now since there are enough cricks to make him think he’s been sitting there for three years. Walking like an old man for the first ten steps out the door. The missing link in the hallway. It was probably the missing link first. Then the old man. Now it’s like, “Stiles.”

“Derek. Is this the first time I’ve stood up since this morning?”

“I don’t know. It wouldn’t surprise me.”

“I should get a watch.”

“So you can time how long it takes you to walk from the couch to the bed?”

“A smart watch.”

“Can’t count to a hundred steps a day in your head?”

“Funny,” he’s going to detour to the bathroom and leave a pee. Not stalling. He’s not stalling. Because even though he’s the one who blurted his intentions and Derek is totally cool with it. Nope, Derek is more than just totally cool with it. Judging by the reflection in the open bathroom mirror that’s left open on accident but it’s aimed just so that Stiles can see the bed. The bed where Derek is completely naked. So much naked. And so much skin and dark hair and muscles and naked. So naked. And he is climbing on. And he is on all fours. But not the real all fours since the real all fours would include beastiality as aforementioned. So the human all fours. 

The human all fours and his hand is reaching to the bedside table for the lube. And the sound of the cap is, oh god. Oh Stiles, just get the pee out of the penis into the toilet without getting a chub. Please. Please do that. 

His eyes close, his hand lands on the wall and he announces, “I cannot be held responsible for anything I do in the next five minutes.”

“Five minutes?” he sounds equally surprised and unimpressed.

“Oh,” the last pee drop hits the toilet bowl, “maybe three.”

“Three minutes?” Stiles knows what those eyebrows are doing right now without having to see them. They’re dipped towards the center and waiting for an explanation.

His eyes dart open, land on the mirror and see Derek tug on his cock. He really hopes that super un-embarrassing squeak was silent. Un-embarrassing. Yes, this is a word. Lacking embarrassment. 

Okay, well, there’s no sense in trying to put his dick back in his pants since his dick is in fact getting hard and his pants are going to come off anyway so, what the hell? He drops ‘em on the floor in the bathroom where he did not just miss the toilet with even one dribble. He’s sure of that. 

Oh, Derek. Oh, that is. It is, it’s too much. He is too much. He’s too much naked and too much muscle and too much perfect. Perfect. He’s too much DEREK.

“You okay in there?”

“Yes,” it comes out quick. Like way too quick to be honest. But it’s honest.

“K. ‘Cause it sounds like you’re…”

“A traffic jam, yes, Derek, thank you, I am well aware of how my internal workings sound to a werewolf.”

“Just checkin’.”

“Okay. And I’m just, I’m just taking a deep breath now. And splashing cold water on my face.”

“Okay,” the sound it makes when his hand strokes his cock. It is, it is a straight jolt though Stiles’ cock. And now he knows for sure, without anymore visual confirmation that Derek is on all fours with a hard dick. Waiting.

“I can’t be held responsible…”

“I know.”

“Okay. For anything that happens between now and when we’re done with the Stiles penetrates Derek thing we’re about to do. If we get that far. If we even…”

“Stiles.”

“Derek.”

“Take a breath. I’m your husband.”

“I’m your mate.”

“I’m just your…”

“Derek.”

“Yeah?”

“Okay,” but his hands are still shaking, “I just am freaking out a little.”

“Hmm, couldn’t tell.”

“I want you to enjoy this. I want you to enjoy it so much that we have to flip a coin for who bottoms on any given day. I want you to enjoy it so much that by the time I’m done you’re going to go full shift and howl through the Preserve. But, I just, I mean, have you bottomed before?”

“Nope. But a first time is a first time. Rarely that great, but it’s you. And I want you. No matter what.”

“First times are what?! I married my first time! And they’re not great?! They’re great! They are great enough to marry and you’re going to tell me there’s no pressure here? That’s what you’re doing right? Trying to pretend like there’s no pressure here. But there’s so much pressure Derek. There’s so much pressure. You don’t even…”

“I know.”

“Derek!”

“Stiles,” it sighs out of his mouth and filters into Stiles’ ears very, very slowly, “there’s no pressure. Got some math for you. There are two people in this house. One of them is freaking out. How many people in this house are not freaking out?”

“That’s kindergarten math! Screw you!”

“That’s what I’m waiting for.”

“Oh,” oh and he’s waiting. He’s waiting with his perfect ass in the air and his hand fisting his cock and he’s so naked. And he’s so Derek. And he’s so, “oh.”

“You want me to finger myself?”

“Yes. No! No!” once more, “no,” in case his wolf ears are off and his human ears are off and he’s suddenly very very deaf, “no. Maybe. Someday. Holy shit. But not today.”

“Okay, then quit hiding in the bathroom and get out here.”

“Okay. I’m going to do that. I am. Have you ever had anything in your ass? Have you ever even…”

“No.”

“Then how do you even…”

“It’s you.”

“Oh,” his hands make a move for his pockets, but he’s not wearing any pants so they just kind of do, something. There. In the empty space. Might as well take his shirt off. A deep breath, a step towards the doorway. And, “oh god,” it’s too much. The mirror image was one thing, but the real thing. The actual real honest thing in front of him like that, all just right there for the viewing and touching, just that, yeah, that’s too much. It’s too much. It’s all just too much. Too much of everything. Beauty and graceful lines and sex appeal. And it’s making Stiles’ head spin. But in the spinning he sees Derek looking over his shoulder and he can’t find his eyes to make eye contact since his eyes are buried in Derek’s ass and he can’t find a damn shovel to dig them out with and he can’t breathe. Did he mention he can’t breathe? And he can’t do anything but stand here and stare. And then something happens.

Something happens in the stance his husband has taken on the bed. And it’s something that makes his stomach clench and his entire head scream that he’s an asshole! Derek is on all fours offering himself, making himself vulnerable, and open, and just there and so much there and Stiles said, ‘oh god’ and stopped moving. So now Derek is having an emotion about it. An emotion. An emotion that Stiles made him have that isn’t a good one. And he didn’t mean to. He’s never meant to make Derek have a bad emotion. Especially in the bedroom. Especially something like insecurity. But he’s being all STILES about it and his face is probably doing all kinds of stupid things when Derek looked over his shoulder at him. And it’s, just, too, much. 

“Oh god,” he hears it again like the idiot that he is. But this time it’s different and Derek’s shoulders just pretty much slump and his knees are starting to move, and his back is un-arching, yes that’s a word too, and he’s going to get up, get off the bed, and say something cool and uncaring like nothing just happened at all in his head when his husband saw his naked offering and froze like a damn Anuk-Ite just appeared. 

Break the mountain ash Stiles. Fuck.

“Oh god, Derek,” it’s okay to have an emotion. But it’s not okay for insecurity. Damn it. It would also be okay if Stiles could find some words here in his brain that’s always sounding like a traffic jam according to Derek. 

But hey, at least his body finally decided to break that little line of whatever was keeping him planted in the bathroom doorway. And his body is taking him right over to the bed and his hands are taking a nice tight hold on his husband’s hips and his mouth is just going to go in for the kill. Stiles knows human anatomy. And men aren’t some big secret thing like a g-spot that does or does not exist and there’s not much space between the anal opening and that little walnut-sized gland between the bladder and the penis. It’s not hard to find it with a tongue or a fingertip. It’s just a matter of finding the right rhythm and stroke and lick for the man in question to make it pleasurable instead of a turn-your-head-and-cough kind of thing. 

Oh, and it’s about getting there. Opening the door so to speak. 

Some kind of noise he’s never heard his husband makes happens when his mouth presses a kiss against his asshole. His right hand slides over his ballsack that he’s held in his palm hundreds of times now, slips down the shaft of that glorious cock that Derek prelubed when he tugged it hard while he was waiting. It’s lost a little interest, that whole insecurity, ‘oh god’, thing. Let’s not talk about that. 

Stiles loves the way Derek’s cock feels in his hand. The perfect weight, perfect feel, perfect little arch in it, perfect length and girth and now he’s thinking about how it feels in his ass and his mouth is watering and that’s probably a good thing even if that’s not the endgame in mind here today, but the whole watering mouth on asshole thing is a good thing. So he darts his tongue out. And Derek jolts forward just a little. So, sneak attack? Not good. Not good for Derek Hale. 

Okay. Stiles uses his mouth to trail down his taint. He knows how to work the man’s balls and dick, it’s just his ass he’s gotta figure out. It’s a puzzle. Stile’s likes puzzles. This is just a puzzle. No pressure. 

No pressure except for that little bit of pressure he’s putting on Derek’s rim. With his index finger. Just a light pressure, a little circle. A tiny circle. And his dick is so nice and hard, well, Stiles might as well twist himself around down here and take that cock down his throat. It’s really, for the whole insecurity thing, the least he can do. 

And, while his cock is down Stiles’ throat, he can figure out the puzzle of his asshole without it being the only thing they’re both focusing on. Since focusing too hard will make it all fall apart. Baby steps. 

Slippery index finger, slobbery mouth, hard cock, tight ass, and little press. Just a little press into him, and then back out, circle the rim. No resistance. Good. This is a good thing. He wants to say, ‘atta boy’, but his mouth is kind of full of dick right now. And saying, ‘atta boy’ during sex is not a good thing. Stiles knows this. First hand. As in, Stiles said it once. Or maybe like twenty-nine times in the heat of the moment. But it was not while scratching Derek behind the ear. It wasn’t! 

Pfff, it totally was.

So, slippery index finger, press inside and stay. Slobbery mouth taking all that dick. All of it. Until he’d gag if he was a gagger. But he’s not a gagger because there are secrets to that. Well, not really any kind of secret. Just like taking a shot. A shot of dick. Relax and open. Down the hatch. 

One finger knuckle deep and no resistance. If anything, there’s a tiny arch, as though Derek is arching towards Stiles’ finger even though his dick wants to stay right there down his throat. His ass is wanting more finger. This is a good sign. Such a good sign that Stiles releases a little on that dick, pulls back until it’s just resting there on the tip of his tongue, lips tight and that good sign makes him moan. Moan right around that dick. And that moan sparks a moan. A moan like the bells in the cathedral peeling for the birth of Christ. Or something. Something good. And beautiful. And if Stiles believed in Heaven, he’d say heavenly. 

There it is. There’s that little walnut sized gland. A crook in his finger, the one he likes the best when Derek does it. Like a ‘come here, baby’ kind of thing, but nope, that’s not a good jolt through Derek. Stiles slips his tongue around the head of Derek’s cock. Distract and try something else. A circle. A little tiny turn table. Yep, “mmm,” falls out of Derek’s mouth and lands right in Stiles’ dick. On Stiles’ dick maybe. In, on, everywhere. Everywhere that it could possibly be. That’s where.

Another, ‘oh god’, is sitting silently on Stiles’ tongue where it’s trapped by Derek’s cock because this is bad. This is bad in the best way possible. This is bad because he’s only one finger deep and there’s already so much orgasm trying to force it’s way out of every possible place it could ever be from Stiles’ body and he’s jut not sure if he’s even going to be able to get his dick lined up to shoot the load on Derek’s asscheek and use it as lube ‘cause at least that’d be hot. He’s certain if he loses his load now, he’ll be able to get himself a new one in short order, but he’s not sure if he can be responsible, oh fuck it. He already told Derek he couldn’t be held responsible for any of the shit he does between standing in the doorway and when they both jizz. Shit. 

Oh, the rush is real. The hustle is real, people. It is real. It is so real when Derek makes that noise again, that little, “mmm,” and Stiles has to try desperately to get out from between his legs and get behind him without losing that finger in his ass and without splooging on his thigh, and it is a true testament to his physical grace and athleticism that he makes it there in time to splatter cum all over that gorgeous right asscheek.

The rush is real. The rush in his ears and in his eyes and his body and in the bed and in the universe and the rush, is just so, it’s so… Derek is laughing. Oh, he’s laughing. Oh, but his laugh is so beautiful. It’s so beautiful, “stop. Stop the laughing. Stop the laughing when my finger is in your ass. You’re going to cut my finger off with your sphincter. Stop with the laughing, I can’t even,” now he’s watching it. He’s watching the way that laugh is trapping his finger in his husband’s ass and it’s so, “oh, god,” that his left hand, yes left hand with a wedding band on it, decides it’s time to join the party. Taking a smear of cum and when his right index circles the turn table, and Derek’s laugh is cut off by a choked pleasured gasp, his left index slides in beside his right one, “oh, god,” two fingers deep.

Two fingers. Lube. And cum. And two fingers. And he’s certain he doesn’t need the dick-sucking distraction anymore if the arch in his husband’s back and the moan he emits are any indicator. Yes, they are an indicator, “oh, god. Oh, oh god,” he needs to shut himself up. Best way to do that? Make his tongue busy. Busy circling Derek’s asshole and layering a couple kisses on each cheek and following his taint, teasing his balls, back up, and okay. Okay, deep breath. Deep breath, don’t fuck this up. Don’t fuck this up Stiles. 

Sliding both those fingers down towards the taint end of his body, and inserting tongue. Slide those fingers back around the edge of the rim, drop the tongue and find that gland. There is a tremble. And actual tremble in Derek’s legs. Derek’s legs are trembling. They are trembling. Stiles made Derek’s legs tremble! 

Oh god. Oh Hell. Oh Hale. Oh all the things. Every holy. And every unholy. 

Yeah, and now Stiles’ dick is rubbing against the edge of the mattress and he’s just, yep, he’s just going to hump it a little. Just a little. That whole frottage thing. But no, no more rubbing because whatever just came out of Derek’s mouth is more than any rubbing could ever do, it is so much tingling pressure at the base of his dick and Derek’s back is bowed now. It is bowed now. Every muscle is flexing in a pattern like a wave up either side of his spine, getting tossed against his shoulders and his head is dropped between them where Stiles can’t see it. He wants to see it. He wants to have an extra super long tongue so he can keep flicking at that gland while seeing where exactly Derek’s head is. And watch the red creeping up his neck, splashing his shoulders, darkening his tattoo, and, “fuck me.”

Okay. Okay, yeah, that’s something Stiles can do. He can do that. He can fuck his husband. But his body is not moving. Not yet. Not more than the fingers, thumb rubbing against his taint, fingers pulling towards his cheeks holding that door open for his tongue. 

But, “no,” happens to make it’s way out of Stiles’ mouth. Somehow. 

“No?”

He dives back in, wiggling his eyebrows even if no one can see them. It’s his turn. It is his turn to torture Derek with a slow, tantalizing, oh yeah tantalizing that’s a good one, warm-up sesh. Derek does this all the damn time to Stiles. Makes him wait. Makes him come first with tongue and fingers, then works him through the oversensitivity and into the next wave of tingling orgasm before he even puts his dick where it should have been from the start. Well that, and, even if Stiles already came once right there on his asscheek and oh yeah, that’s his own cum he’s tasting in his husband’s ass and that’s strangely hot. Never thought he’d be into that particular thing, tasting himself, but it’s different when the serving platter is his husband’s body. 

He could eat for days off his husband’s body. Maybe he should do that sometime. Just lay out all the meals all over that body and just go to town for hours. So that would require Derek to just lay there and let him, which is pretty much a long shot. But the image of it. Derek just laying there all naked and feasting off his abs and what would he put on his dick? The condiments? Or dessert? Hmm. 

“Stiles.”

Withdrawing far enough to admit, “traffic jam. But it’s a good one. It’s full of food and nakedness and,” he slips a finger in to take over the turn table his tongue was doing and Derek arches, “just shouldn’t sound like a traffic jam when we’re doing this, should I? But thing is,” he’s going for it now. He’s going to slip a middle finger in on the action, circle around the right side of his rim, circle, dip, circle, dip, circle, and press. Oh god, that moan, that arch, that Derek, “if I don’t distract myself then my next load is landing on your left asscheek and it’s impolite for me to spew twice before you even do once, so,” the turn tables. DJ Stiles and the orchestration of his husband’s vocal cords. Chords of the cords. Vocal cords look kind of like a vagina. 

So maybe Derek wasn’t Stiles’ first, like first first ever. So he might of lied a little bit when he said he married his first. Derek was his first backdoor visitor. That’s what he meant by that. There was Malia. And vaginas are complicated. More complicated than a penis. And balls. And assholes with prostates in them. And speaking of, “oh god Derek,” it’s something else entirely to be standing back and watching his fingers slipping in and out, turning the table, in and out. Oh shit, he should try the wrist twist. Turn across the turn table sideways. 

Left index finger back out, tracing taint, taking balls in hand. Watching his right ring finger line up to slide around the rim as his wrist twists and Derek, oh, “Derek,” arches even further towards him and starts clenching and clamping uncontrollably and oh, “Derek,” that is going straight to Stiles’ dick and it is, that is, too much, it is too much when he watches Derek’s body flush red and his own surge of heat follows. Watching as Derek’s hands appear from where they were hiding under the pillow, his head is dipped and his arms bend. Oh shit, claws out. Claws are out ladies and gentlemen. The claws are out. And his hands are pressing into his own flesh, upper arms bracing his head, bent elbows, hands splayed and fingers just going to press, just pressing in against his tattoo. Oh shit, oh, uh oh, that’s blood. He’s losing it. He is losing control. He is losing that tight hold he always keeps on control and his own claws are digging into his own flesh.

Too bad it’s too late for that little piece of information to find Stiles’ dick. Or may that little piece of information is what pushes him over yet another cliff ledge, his left hand, the metal cool against his dick as he yanks it, aiming shamelessly at Derek’s asshole, pulling his fingers open to give himself a perfect target. Even if his dick never makes it inside his husband right now, or at any point today judging by how damn trigger happy he is, at least a hot load is splashing in there. 

There are things that his brain is probably going to chastise himself for later when he’s not driven by the pure force of sexual attraction and physical need and emotional bonding. But right now, in the heat of all of this. All of this muscle and bare skin and panted breathing and tightness and heat, just so much heat, he’s unashamed. Completely unabashed in his pleasure seeking. Oh, and add a dash of smug to that since he just made Derek Hale lose control. 

But, well, now he needs a break. Because this will not turn into beastiality. Nope. Not happening. 

So he leaves one single pointer finger in Derek’s ass, pressing a soothing rub against his prostate. Watching the ripple of overstimulation up his spine. Following it to those little spots of blood just speckled right there, five on one side of his spine, five on the other. 

Well, Derek just lost some control. Stiles’ sex-fogged brain can figure out that it’s not great. Not great for Derek to lose control. Not great unless Stiles makes it okay now. Like right now, “hey big guy,” left hand, palm down, fingers wide spreading up his spine. From the indentations right at the base of his spine to the tattoo. The puncture marks are already starting to braid themselves shut, the claws are out, “hey, you’re alright,” his voice is all broken and crackled with all the exertion. So fine, not really exertion, he didn’t really exert himself, he just had a whole lot of things running around in his body while he gave his tongue and fingers a work-out. 

Stiles watches his hand cover his husband’s where they’re layered over one another on the back of his neck now. He’s wishing he had wolf senses right now so he could hear Derek’s internal workings to know what exactly is happening but he’s just going to have to use his human senses of observation to figure it out. His thumb smoothes over Derek’s hand, from wrist to knuckles, “just us here. You’re good. Just you and me. Mates, you know. Husbands. You’re good.”

He’s wishing he could see those eyes right about now. If they’re blue with silver streaks or if they’re hazel with silver veins. Wolf. Or human. Stiles has never really thought there was much difference between the two aside from physical appearance. But it’s easy to see the wolf in the human and the human in the wolf. So, one thing. They are one thing. 

Stiles leans, lets his body drape over Derek’s back gently. Maintaining the even, gentle pressure on his prostate but not moving his finger. Keeping Derek’s hands grounded under his left one, watching the wedding band metal, sandblasted titanium with a meteorite inlay to be exact; waiting for Derek’s to turn. A deep breath seems to rattle through his body, expanding his ribs and it’s like an act of nature to get his hands to release each other and the left one to turn, palm to palm with Stiles’, “there he is,” pressing a kiss against the sweat-glazed skin, mid-back level. He has a weird animalistic urge to smear those perfectly round droplets of red blood around with his face. But that’s weird. That’s too much animal. And Stiles might be married to a part-animal but he is not an animal himself. Aside from the fact that humans are animals. But hey, whatever, his face is just going to inch up just a little, just a tiny bit, just enough to get a tiny smear of blood on the very tip of his nose. Just for a little soothing gesture. Like, ‘hey, I’m your mate for life here buddy so your blood is my blood and I’ll lick you clean if I have to even if I don’t want to but I’ll do it because you’re mine’. Like that but without the words. 

“Remember the first time we had sex?” his voice is muffled against Derek’s back and his flesh is all covered in sweat and goosebumps but those claws are drawing back and those impalements are disappearing, “I cried Derek. I cried. Like a little baby. I buried my face in your neck and cried.”

And it wasn’t because it hurt or anything, it was unlocking a door to a whole new pleasure that Stiles had no idea his body was capable of feeling. And the closeness. The whole, ‘I just got possessed and got a bunch of people killed and now we have some things in common that we didn’t have in common before and probably don’t have with anyone else and I come to you because you know, and you don’t judge, and you feel silently beside me and you don’t try to tell me it’ll be okay’, that thing. That whole thing. That was the thing that made Stiles cry like a baby after they fucked. At least it was after. At least it was a post-orgasmic blow out of snot and tears and he didn’t interrupt the sex with it. And Derek, he was all Derek about it. Didn’t say anything. Didn’t move, other than to grasp at Stiles’ fingers and press his lips against his temple. And wait. He waited kind of a long ass time because Stiles fell asleep there and when he woke up with skin tight from salty tears, the rest of him all wiped clean and a big Hulkwolf wrapped around him he kind of figured it was the best place he’d ever been in his life. 

“Just sayin’, if you wanna cry, have a ball. A bawl,” nudging his nose into his back. All he gets is a little sigh thingy in response, “kay, so how about this? How about you roll with me to our sides now because I’m tired of standing. And if we keep going, if we get to the Stiles-penetrates-Derek-with-his-dick part of the night, day. Day. If we get there, then I wanna see your face. The whole time. So can I keep my finger here?”

“Yeah,” it’s immediate, even if it’s kind of breathy. It’s an okay kind of breathy. Not a ‘get that thing out of me right now!’ kind of breathy. It’s a ‘I just got overwhelmed by an emotion and a physical stimulation and they combined to make me breathy but I still want this’ kind of breathy. 

“Okay,” Stiles plants his knees on the bed between Derek’s, lets more weight down on his husband’s back and, “roll over Fido,” and if that’s not bad enough he sings, “there were two in the bed and the little one said ‘roll over, roll over’,” because that’s exactly what normal people do in bed.

Normals do not have this kind of adjustment period. Screw Lydia.

“Only if you shut up.”

Oh there he is. There’s that Sourwolf. Oh, “I love you.”

So the roll goes smoothly but probably only because Derek is in charge of the roll. And they end up with their bodies still pressed languidly together and Derek’s ribs are normal in their expansion and contraction against Stiles’ chest and he’s not looking over this shoulder at him just yet, but that’s okay. Time to gather oneself. That is important, “look at me,” or that. Maybe that was enough time to gather himself and now that Stiles said the whole ‘I love you’ part and there was no immediate response, then he’s not gathered himself, but, “Derek,” it’s sing-singed and he drapes the left arm over Derek’s chest, finds his stubbled chin and drags his head over, “argh me matey, I said I love you,” because it’s not like a person can call their husband a mate without being a matey from time to time. Or having an Australian accent or a British accent when they say it. Do Brits even say mate? They do when Stiles is British. 

“I love you too,” he only resists the head turning for a split second. And it’s only because there are tiny little salty droplets of mist on his eyelashes. So Stiles kisses them off. Kisses those shimmering little tears off his eyelashes. 

“You okay, with, this, you know, um,” he slides his finger over Derek’s prostate very gently. 

Derek’s breath breaks and his eyes shut, but roll under his lids. A pleasure roll. Oh yes, Derek is okay with this, “continue.”

“Hehehehe…he,” that wasn’t supposed to sound maniacal but it did. Very much so.

Stiles is starting to think that the whole ‘normals couldn’t handle this’ is mostly because of him. Not Derek. 

Oh well. Either way. That mouth. That one that’s parted and has dry lips from all the gasping and moaning, that mouth, it should be wrecked with kisses. Right now. Right now, right now. Yesterday right now. It’s not like he can help it when he moans into Derek’s mouth either. He’s trying to remember the last time they kissed, it seems like it was years ago even though it was this morning. But well, years, hours, whatever. That’s probably the problem. There were no lips, there was no exploration of mouths to go with the whole ‘Derek’s first time bottoming’ thing. Derek’s first time bottoming. Or ! Probably a ! at the end of that. 

“What do I sound like to you when I get really super excited over something?” pulling out of the kisses just long enough to wonder. Doing a little spin on the turn table and watching Derek’s eyelids flutter before his eyes open. Hazel. Green, so green right now in all the afternoon light pouring in the moonroof.

“A twelve year old girl.”

“Oh. That. That is disappointing,” testing another turn. Getting closed lids and a gasp slipping past those lips.

“What did you want to sound like?”

“I don’t know. I’m a traffic jam when I’m thinking too hard. I smell like lemons and oxidized pennies when I’m anxious which is like,” twist, “all the time,” turn, oh the chords, “I sound like the yard when I sleep,” twist it, add a finger. The give. The give in that muscle, it is, so just, “maybe a carnival or something. Not a twelve year old girl.”

“A twelve year old girl is much less intrusive than a carnival.”

And a third finger is only mildly intrusive. So he pauses, just long enough, “guess it depends on the twelve year old girl. But the carnival has all those raggy carnies so there’s that. Twelve year old girls have um, nail polish and a lot of squeals.”

“It’s the squeals, not the nail polish.”

“Oh,” twist.

And the shudder. The shudder drops all the words right out of Stiles’ head and right out of his mouth that is just going to linger there wide open while he watches his mate’s face. The face that has gone lax and open. Eyes closed, the breath is soft, the brows are just there. Not doing anything. This is a good sign. 

Stiles’ left hand that’s been pressing a thumb shaped dent into Derek’s chin drops to his chest, wanting to feel the beating of his heart. And maybe tweak a nipple on the way. So calm. So open. So trusting. And so in control. Stiles is in control. He’s pretty damn sure of it. And the heart beat has a lot to tell him about that every time he moves his fingers. And the breath has a lot to tell him about that every time he moves his fingers. And he’s just going to stay here, leaning over Derek’s shoulder to stare at his face. But he’s not being a creeper about it. Not at all. And it’s not like Derek does that kind of shit all the damn time to Stiles either, so turnabout’s fair play. 

When Derek’s hand finally appears from wherever it was, it lands on Stiles’ hand over his heart and when his fingers close over Stiles’ and the metal clinks together, all he can blurt is the inevitable thing that any sane normal person would blurt in this exact moment, “can I penetrate you now? With my dick? Can I put my dick in your butt? A D in the B. A Stiles D in a Derek B.”

“If you stop talking,” and now those eyes are open and those silver veins are throbbing and he’s pretty certain if he looked hard enough he’d see them throb to the rhythm of Derek’s O’s when he O’s, but usually Stiles is Oing at the same time so it’s hard to look. Maybe he should look.

Oh, oh shit, oh. His dick is not going to last. This is. So hard. It’s so hard. It is so…

“Heard you the first time.”

“Oh. That was supposed to be quiet.”

“It wasn’t.”

“Oh. It will enter you. This time. It will.”

“Waiting,” the brows are waiting too. 

“K,” and now Stiles’ hands decide to be a great time to shake.

“Breathe.”

“You too,” right hand exiting with a pained grunt parting his husband’s lips and it pains Stiles to feel it too, like the emptiness echoing in his own body. The separating is always the worst part of it. Being empty after being so full, “I would like to live a life where we are one person,” shaking right hand is reaching for cock and lining it up, “all the time.”

“Yep. Go for it.”

“I mean, all the time Derek. Just…”

“Just, put your dick in me. And shhhh,” it trails right off into nothing as the head of Stiles’ dick makes it’s entrance. It trails off and then picks up in a low moan that is the most beautiful thing Stiles has ever heard. 

And kisses. Kisses are what he was supposed to be doing. Kisses are always a good distraction to any sting, and of course there is a sting. A sting that will in no time stop stinging in any bad way, sting a little in a good way, and then be nothing but good until it’s all over. Which, Stiles would like to think will take all afternoon to be over. But, well, since his dick is already jumpy and only halfway inside his husband, it’s just not going to be that long. 

The good news here, is that Derek is most definitely enjoying himself. So much so, that Stiles is nearly certain they are going to go into this a top and a bottom and they are going to come out of it two vers mates. So versatile, just so versatile. Versa-Stiles. 

“Shut up,” it’s mumbled against his lips and damn it, that was supposed to be quiet, and it’s impressive how much he can make out of Stiles’ mumbled against lips chattering anyway. 

“And chattering chipmunks. I forgot about that one, you said I sound like chattering chipmunks sometimes too.”

“Shut. Up,” his head darts forward, eagerly taking hold of Stiles’ lips and not about to let go for anything. Anything at all. So Derek is taking control back. At least for the kissing, but his pelvis is just all relaxed and willing to be pillaged. That better have been an actual internal thought. That one was bad. And there is no pausing in the tongue wars, so it must have been internal. 

Oh. Hell. Oh. Hale. Oh. Fuck, fuck, fuck. It’s all the way to the base and it’s so tight and it’s so warm and it’s so everything and it’s so much of too much of everything and holy Hale. This is too much. It is stars and imploding galaxies and supernovas and earthquakes and tsunamis and goddamn thunderstorms and a lightning bird and a whole lot of silver. So much silver. There is so much silver. 

Stiles’ eyes pop open, his head drags back, forcing the lip contact to break and Derek’s eyes to open. They are flooded in silver. It is so bright. It is so intense and so beautiful and if he was normal, oh yeah, this is something the normal people with normal adjustment periods couldn’t handle. This is a Derek point, a point for the Derek column of things that are not in a normal relationship adjustment period. Or it’s a point to Stiles since it’s a Derek fault. Or not really a fault. Just a weird not weird thing that other people would think was weird but Stiles doesn’t. Stiles thinks it’s, “beautiful,” and he’s going to have to watch the hell out of that even if Derek is trying to pull away, “don’t go,” that’s not happening, twisting his left hand out of Derek’s grip to get a hold on his chin, “and don’t blink. Please,” nudging Derek’s nose with his. The nose nudge is a good sealer. A good quiet reminder of mate, mate, mate. Without saying it. So he nudges again and waits for Derek to nudge back and though his eyes are closed now, he’s bound to open them eventually. 

Stiles very, very slowly and gently pulls back until he’s certain the head of his dick is rubbing against Derek’s prostate and he rolls his hips. Oh yeah, that’s a good one, those eyes flash open, pure silver with little bits of blue around the edges flashing like a strobe light and breaking so much stuff in Stiles’ brain and all he’s left with is the need to fuck him. To really fuck him. Fuck him until he can’t walk right for all of five seconds that it would take for him to heal whatever muscles back to where they should be and all that lactic acid would just burn it’s way right through his system without him even blinking, but at least it would be felt for like a whole minute. Maybe. 

Snapping his hips so he’s got himself all the way inside his husband, being rewarded with an open mouthed moan that sends shockwaves up Stiles’ cock. He bites his own lip, making certain his brain focuses down on that instead of the raging orgasm rolling down his spine. He just needs a few good, solid, earth-shattering thrusts. Or not really that earth-shattering since the earth is already shattered. But, “Derek,” he’s not sure if Derek is shattered. 

Stiles’ thumb is grinding into his chin and he’s holding him in place with so much determination that he’s certain there’d be a bruise in the dent of his chin if he wasn’t a damn werewolf, which putting a bruise on a mate’s chin is not something he’s actually attempting to do, that’s not something he wants or anything, but it’s just that his grip is so damn tight he knows it would hurt if Derek wasn’t Derek. And Derek’s mouth is open and his eyes are rolling open and Stiles is going blind. But not so blind that he can’t see all that throbbing silver and strobing blue and he’s afraid to look at Derek’s hands to see if the claws are in or out and he really hopes the guy has the control to keep himself human ‘cause, well, like aforementioned, that’d be weird. And illegal. And it’d be even too much for Stiles to manage his way through. Much less a normal human. 

“Derek,” again, just in case he didn’t hear him two seconds ago. He clearly heard him, otherwise he wouldn’t be looking at him, but, “Derek,” stutters out again all broken and wound-up like he’s just run a marathon instead of giving his husband about five good thrusts after already leaving two gifts for him before the whole impalement via dick started up. 

“Yeah,” yes, that’s a ‘go ahead and blow your load’ if Stiles has ever heard one. 

“Now, now, it’s now,” his lips dive into Derek’s and Derek meets him with his tongue right in the middle before he sucks Stiles’ tongue into his mouth and all the wicked insane twisted things in Stiles’ gut twist that much harder and tighter and wind up his hips and grind into Derek’s ass and he’s arching back against it and it’s a clear sign he’s there too when it all starts tightening and pulsing and gripping and Stiles is pretty sure he’s dying. He is dying. That is the end. It couldn’t have ended more beautifully. A death fit for a king. Fit for a legend. Fit for songs and novels and movies and mini-series and ballads and lore. Lore. That’ll be lore. It’ll be so much worth it. And it better be on his headstone. Death by fucking the most perfect creature in the universe. Death by the most intense orgasm ever in recorded history of orgasms. There is not a recorded history of orgasms, but there should be. There will be. There will be a history of orgasms from this day forth. In Stiles’ mind where he organizes everything that is unorganized and floating around like space dust after a star’s most brilliant death. A supernova. Of thoughts. And orgasms. And death. He is dead. He is dying. Most definitely. Death by D in the B. Death by oh the O’s. All the O’s. Every O. He is dying.

“You’re not dying.”

“I’m being reborn.”

And Wolfman is unimpressed. And so tired. Stiles leans forward and kisses his nose, knowing it’ll scrunch up on contact. It does. It’s a favorite. He leans out to watch his hand slide over Derek’s stubble, and out of the corner of his eye he can see that yes, indeed, the man did lose control. 

“So much stuffing.”

“Hmm?” he’s all drowsy and fucking adorable. 

Stiles is surprised that he is still awake himself, “I didn’t realize there was so much stuffing in that pillow,” tilting his head towards the gutted thing that used to be a pillow that is now shredded by werewolf claws. 

Derek’s green eyes with silver veins in them follow his line of sight, and holy, all things holy, the man blushes like blushes full on red blush that Stiles thought only himself capable of. And this is not something that he’s going to live down anytime soon, but Stiles is going to wrap his arms so tight around his chest that he won’t feel like Stiles is going to reject him when he teases the hell out of him and apparently Derek’s wolf senses detect that and he decides to seal the words by sealing the lips on the lips and by the time he lets up Stiles is out of breath and all the stars are swirling again, he’s pretty sure he could do this again, well, since his dick is only mildly softening and still right in there. Right in the glory zone, and it could easily be persuaded to harden right back up even if a fourth orgasm would only shoot dust, just a little poof of dust, but it’s, “thought you were dying.”

“I’m being reborn!”

He’s still not impressed, “well how about you rebirth yourself over to the bathroom for a washrag and you go ahead and clean your gifts off my ass.”

“I’m waiting for it to turn into glue. Stay here forever.”

He grunts something that loosely translates to ‘I’m tired now and it’s only fair if you clean this up since I always clean us up and I just lost enough control to rip apart a pillow instead of either or both of us, so it’s your turn mate’. Oh, and the eyebrows are in on it. 

“Fine,” heavy sigh, and since the little bastard that was thinking about another round like thirty seconds ago is now limp and useless and just sliding right out of Derek with all the fluid overload that just makes it sound so unpleasant, but grinding his soft dick and his pelvis against Derek’s ass while he’s here, since he’s here and all, it’d be a wasted opportunity if he didn’t, “I need two things first. I need to know. Inquiring minds need to know. On a list of orgasms, of all the orgasms with all the people, where does that one rank? Are we officially vers now? Are we going to flip a coin from here on out? I mean, there’s always flip-fucking too and that could be so much fun, all the sex Derek, all of the sex,” he’s losing him. Those eyes are starting to blink for longer, longer closed, creased lids, “do you want to go howl through the Preserve? Do you feel so good you want to shout it from the rooftops? Wanna run a victory lap? ‘Cause I kinda do,” um, yeah, they’re staying closed, his neck is going to be so cramped up when he wakes up if he actually falls asleep this way, “how am I supposed to go rebirth myself in the bathroom if I can’t get up, you’re kinda pinning me, a little, but I’m not complaining. Just saying. And are you going to be up again to make dinner? Or should I order something? Or go pick something up? Like a celebratory cake with an illustration of me with my D in your B. That’d be awesome. Why’d we wait this long to do this? Why didn’t you say anything before, like a ‘hey matey I wanna try bottoming some day if that’s cool’? Make me wait,” nudging his nose with his own and not even a huff.

That is a sleeping wolf. Stiles can’t stop his lips from upturning into a really dopey grin, “that is definitely a point in the Stilinski column. Even if you aren’t going to admit it,” a yawn cuts off his train of thought. Without losing his grip on his husband he nudges his way into his neck, pushing his face forward to get that awful bend out of his neck so he doesn’t wake cramped. Not that it’d matter, he’d just shake it off by about ten seconds of being awake again, but it’s the polite thing to do. Since he’s not about to go get that rag and wipe them down. Sleep is just, it is right there, the feel of it rolling off Derek and pulling Stiles right into it with him. 

——————

It is definitely a point in the Stilinski column, there is not a doubt about that, when Stiles wakes awhile later to an empty bed and the sound of a wolf howling somewhere in the not-so-distant woods. 

The text from Scott wonders, ‘what’s the celebration about?’

Celebration, ‘not sure, but it’s going to involve a cake.'

‘Derek doesn’t eat cake.'

‘He’ll eat this one.'

And it’s a win. The whole adjustment period thing. If this shit happens in all marriages? Stiles will eat his shorts. Or the cake he’s about to order. Custom design. Yep. That’ll do it. That’ll win the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll admit, when I first started thinking about writing this ship I felt like Stiles was the clear bottom in the relationship since canon Stiles wanted to have all the sex, so I figured why not? But when I write ships (even ones established in canon as top/bottom dynamics), I always feel like I want them to give themselves wholly to each other at some point. Even though I know in reality it's less common for gay men to be vers than to have a strong preference for one or the other, I kind of like the idea of these two being vers. 
> 
> I still haven't read a hell of a lot in this fandom, but the more I read, the more I want to explore...
> 
> This is not just a sex fic, but it will stay pretty light. Keep reading the chapter notes for the descriptions and warnings :)


	2. And Now He's A Girl?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I married a werewolf... and now he's a girl?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: sex-swap via potion.
> 
> Derek is still male-brained. And with the help of a poorly aimed potion he is in a female body.

And Now He’s A Girl?

So, well, here’s the thing. THE THING. So, the thing is, Stiles may have pissed off some kind of Witch or Fae folk or Changeling or Sprite, maybe a Nymph or a Selkie or a goddamn Manananggal, a who-the-fuck-knows anyway! But it’s not like he knew what she was when he pissed her off. He’s not even entirely sure what exactly he did to piss her off. Well, he’s kind of sure, but it’s pretty minor, it’s just not that big of a deal. It was maybe a little sexist or insensitive to feminism or something Stiles just said offhand because he’s not sexist and he’s not anti-feminist, he just maybe kind of, well, said the wrong thing because he is STILES. That is what he does! He says the wrong things! And then makes up for said wrong things by continuing to ramble until someone shuts him up.

Long story short. So it all seemed okay. It all seemed fine. It was nothing. A girl named Louise from his criminal law and procedure class asked him for some help studying in the after school variety without eyebrow wiggling because Stiles is a married man who is maybe a little young to be married according to just about everybody, but he wears the proof on his left hand at all times. Since he’s such a hot commodity and everyone is sniffing his skirts and such, he’s gotta make it clear as crystals and day that he’s taken. Happily taken. So that ring just never budges. Well, except for all the times he fiddles with it. Twisting and turning and twirling, nudging it up to his knuckle just to press it back down but it’s not like it’s become a thing he does all the time to soothe himself, he’s not a child he doesn’t need soothing things like fidget spinners and fidget balls and, well, he still has that little aluminum fidget ball that Derek gave him in his pocket pretty much all the time. So not really a ball, in the sense of a ball, but a bunch of rings linked together in the rough shape of a ball that clink so slightly, just enough to make noise for Stiles but not enough to even bother wolf senses, and they spin and twist and fine, they soothe. They soothe. And so does spinning his ring. And spinning his ring also attracts attention to said ring, so it’s a win win in Stiles’ book. Fidget, soothe, make certain Louise with the wandering eyes knows he’s taken. Happily taken.

So Louise was invited to come by the house. The cabin. Home. For some after school studies since Stiles had no desire to stay at school for any longer than he had to and he had no reason to not trust this Louise since she seemed like just your normal everyday average human being, and let’s face it, there aren’t many of those in Stiles’ life and he kinda wants one. He wants to bring home a normal person sometimes to hang out with, and show off his home and his husband and all the happiness of being a taken man. And maybe he just wants to hang out sometimes with someone who doesn’t have wolf senses or emergency pack meetings when the next supernatural is on the loose, or the Nemeton is shifting, or there’s new wolfsbane to be worried about, or there are Skin-Walkers and Harpies and the Hesperides themselves bearing down on Beacon Hills. 

An afternoon of studying with a normal human person in Stiles’ normal human home. That’s what Stiles wanted. Problem number one was when they got there and Derek was in full shift lying in the sun like the lazy bastard that he is because he was apparently ignoring Stiles’ text telling him he was bringing home a study buddy and he needed to not be a wolf! when they got there. Stiles knows the asshole can hear his phone from like five miles away so it’s not like he didn’t hear it while he was out chasing chipmunks or squirrels or rabbits, definitely rabbits judging by the little froth around his muzzle, he can’t resist the rabbits even if it’s just for the chase, it’s not like he ever actually catches any. Well, sometimes around the full moon he gets a little overzealous and maybe eats a rabbit or two, but there’s a reason it’s called multiplying like rabbits, banging like bunnies, or whatever it’s called. They reproduce a lot so it’s not like Derek is throwing off the ecosystem by eating a few every once in awhile. Call it population control. 

At least he eats them. Their death was worth something instead of just running out in front of a car or something. And he makes it quick. The sound of a screaming rabbit, it is just, it is, Stiles cringes at the thought of it. It wasn’t Derek that wounded the damn thing the first time Stiles heard it. But Derek put it out of it’s misery pretty quickly.

Derek. Lying in the grass. In full shift. A full-blown black wolf. Lying in the yard. Sunning himself. 

Bastard.

Louise, or Lou as she goes by, jumps back when she sees him, then takes note of Stiles’ unaffected posture, but mostly hides behind him when she asks, “do you really have a pet wolf?”

“He’s, he’s, um, well, you can’t really raise a wolf like a dog, that’s not cool, that’s not, like, a thing. Um, but,” his hand is rising to scratch the back of his head, “uh, yeah. He’s a wolf.”

There’s no sense in lying. The man can’t be confused for a malamute. And when Derek saunters over, and Lou brushes up against Stiles when she’s half hiding behind him half deciding if she has time to get back in her car and never come back, Derek might growl just a little at the contact. Nice Derek. Not a possessive bastard at all, is he? Nope. Not at all.

So Stiles crouches down in the grass, and uses his best mushy voice, offering his hand to the giant wolf the he doesn’t actually need to crouch to pet but it makes him feel small when Stiles does it, so yeah, he does it, “hey there big fella, who’s the big baby, huh? Who’s Stiles’ big baby? Big baby want a scratching, huh? Does he?”

Derek, the bastard that he is, just sits. And glares. It’s his own damn fault for not looking at his text!

“Come here you big brute, come give Daddy a big kiss, come on, who want’s a belly rub?”

If a wolf could roll his eyes they’d be lodged in the back of his head now.

“Come on pretty baby,” his head tilts left at that, “you like that?” this is new, “you pretty baby?”

Uh that’s a negatory. The asshole was just listening for a squirrel. And now he’s chasing it. Bounding across the yard. Good lord in heaven or wherever he is or if he even exists, that man is gorgeous. 

“Uh,” Stiles explains, very eloquently, “he usually loves his belly rubs,” is it weird to have a husband wolf give you his belly? Yes, yes it is. But it’s also strangely endearing and trusting and adorable. And Stiles does not look at his junk when he does it. Never. He would never. Because ogling your husband’s wolf junk would be bordering on that whole aforementioned beastiality thing, right? Right, “he’s just being shy right now I guess. Well, shall we?” sweeping his arm open to the cabin.

“As long as there aren’t any other woodland creatures hiding in there,” her eyes are blue and round and he can’t really read what she’s thinking, but she seems half scared and half curious. 

“No, not at all, you’re good, that’s all there is. Unless Derek left a dead mouse at the door or something. You know, showing I’m the dominant one and proving his worth and all,” Stiles grins.

“Isn’t Derek your husband?” she says it slow like Stiles’ brain moves too slowly to follow normal human paced speech patterns. And the look on her face now, well, that’s one he can read.

“Yes,” it’s slow too. Now they’re going to have a slow-off, “he is,” and that, well, that’s going to be hard to, explain, or, “it’s the wolf’s name too. Derek, is, he’s kind of stuck on himself,” and he says it loud enough that he knows the wolf can hear him clear as day. And he urges Lou towards the back door of the house because if Derek left a mouse on the steps it’d be on the front porch. Did Stiles mention the front porch? It’s awesome. It’s spectacular. It’s the perfect place to sit and relax and enjoy nature and a wolf husband. There’s even one of the those little gas fireplaces for when Stiles gets cold watching Derek splashing around in the creek. And when the wolf turns into the man and the man is naked and dripping wet and covered in goosebumps. It’s just so much easier to live in the middle of the woods when Derek shifts. Or howls. Or kills rabbits. Or chases woodland creatures. Except birds, he seems to have an obsession with things with wings. He’s gotten so into watching them flying over head before that he’s tipped over on accident, then pretended it wasn’t on accident by rubbing his back up and down on the grass until he’s twisting and grunting and acting like he was itchy to begin with. This has happened. Multiple times now. 

“Wow,” now they’re inside. Inside the house. Home. And Lou is impressed. He knows that human expression, “this is really beautiful inside.”

It is. It’s all glass fronted and there’s Derek. All fur and grace. Slurping up half the creek. Stiles wonders if he’s flipping his ass towards him on purpose. Prick.

“Thanks. Derek had it built a few years back. His family owned this property, a good amount of property in the Preserve actually. He chose this spot to build because of the creek mostly,” Stiles shrugs, shoves his hands in his pockets, and rocks back on his heels. It’s not a thing. It’s just a thing. He always thinks he’s sharing too much when he talks about Derek, when he mentions anything at all about Derek’s family, it just feels like an invasion of privacy even if it’s nothing deeper than surface of any other normal family that Stiles is sharing. The hands remove themselves from pockets, clap, rub together as he steps out of his shoes and wonders, “shall we get this studying thing over with? I’ll give a grand tour of the place when Derek gets home.”

So problem number two arises about an hour later. Now, maybe in retrospect, this was the biggest problem of the day, when they were taking a break from the books and discussing how exhausting it is to do presentations in Professor Longhini’s class. And, well, here’s where Stiles sticks his foot in his mouth and says, “I wish I was a girl. You luck out if you’re a girl in Longhini’s class, all you have to do is wear a short skirt and maybe show some cleavage and bam! A-plus presentation even if it’s complete shit.”

And judging by her face he probably should have stopped there and realized his mistake, but no, no, that’s not what Stiles does when Stiles gets on a roll, “have you noticed the way he just sort of presses into girl’s bubbles in his class? Like whenever a girl asks a question, he just has to sit down next to her and lean over her book and rub his leg against hers. Which, sure, yeah, it’s uncomfortable and crosses a lot of boundaries but it’s not even like you have to sleep with the guy to get a perfect grade. You just have to let him occasionally touch you inappropriately and show off your womanly assets. I mean, I’d wear a skirt every day to that class if it got me an A. Maybe I should wear a skirt. See if…”

And now his eyes decide to look at her. And now his brain is actually catching up to all the wrongness of what he just said. And now he’s thinking he should report the guy to the Dean. Or to the Sheriff. He knows the Sheriff. Well, he knows the Dean too, but not as well as he knows the Sheriff. 

“Okay that sounded really,” it’s going to be an apology for being inconsiderate and douchey, but then it trails off. It trails off because problem number three arises at that exact moment, “shit, shitty! That sounded,” he jolts off the couch and takes her hand, jerking her to her feet, “let’s have that grand tour now, shall we?” because that’s not an okay way to apologize at all but wolf Derek just got stung by a bee and know he’s jolting and jerking around the yard uncontrollably and when wolfman gets stung by a bee, well, all bets are off when he’ll shift back to just beautiful and very naked Derek man. That line of control is hard to control when a bee gets in the britches. 

“Do you need to use the bathroom or anything? Want a glass of water? A snack? Um, anything, that, um,” he’s turned her, and he’s keeping his hands on her shoulders and realizing that all of this seems wildly inappropriate and he brought her to a cabin in the woods where there was a wolf in the yard and he brought up a sexual predator professor and wished (out loud mind you) that he was a girl so he could get an easy grade in the pervert’s class and now he’s leading her to the bedroom? The bedroom Stiles, really? He might as well just hand her a roofie and take off his pants. 

“It’s estimated that every ninety-two seconds someone in the US is sexually assaulted. More than one in three women and nearly one in four men have experienced sexual violence involving physical contact at some point in their lives. Nearly one in five women and one in thirty-eight men have experienced completed or attempted rape in their lifetimes. So it’s not just a gender-lines thing, there’s assault against all genders, most likely perpetrated by men but you know all this, we’ve been in the same classes. And I’m not saying it’s, I don’t know what I’m saying,” he guides her back out of the guest bedroom, peering through the window on his way by, and yeah. That’s Derek, all man and all naked in the yard. He has a clothesline right by the creek where he normally shifts, but since the forced by bee-sting shift was on the far side of the yard, he just, well, he’s making his way over there quickly but shit, “up the stairs we go.”

She’s just stiff as a board under his hands but he can’t, for the love of all things, let go and risk her turning around and seeing that there is, in fact, a naked man right outside, “it’s never the victim’s fault, it’s not like any of the girls in Longhini’s class chose to be inappropriately touched or drooled over or like they’re asking for an A by wearing a skirt on a presentation day, or um, it’s not their fault. I’m just sayin’, I don’t know what I’m saying. It’d be nice to get an A on a presentation just because of what I wear? That might be what I’m saying but that sounds bad too. Since it’s not like the women in the class don’t want to be taken seriously too, and it’s not like they give shitty presentations and just rely on their looks, or anything so I guess, I,” they’re standing in Stiles’ study room now. He sort of just sweeps her around the room, avoiding the window while he cranes his head out to see that Derek is at least dressed now. 

He’s scratching at his nose and his hair is wet and he’s headed towards the house. And, um, “well, let’s get back downstairs. Are you hungry yet? Or want something to drink? I’m not going to offer any alcohol since that’s not what this is about and since I’m not twenty-one and my husband’s not an alcohol provider or anything like that, but hey, that’s our bedroom over there but I’m not going to show you that either since I’ve already made enough weird and uncomfortable observations to make you insanely suspicious of me bringing you to our bedroom. The guest room is one thing. Plenty of single women have slept there alone and no one goes in there and, I mean, Lydia, she ends up here a lot,” he’s going to leave out the whole banshee part of course, he’s not that idiotic, “um, Erica. She’s here sometimes. There’s more than that too. Derek has a sister. And a cousin, and down the stairs we go, I think I just heard the door so I can introduce you to my mate, there he is!”

Stiles is pretty sure the face he’s making to Derek is conveying all kinds of ‘I put my foot in my mouth, maybe both feet by now and I don’t know how to get them back out, help!’, and Derek’s brows are conveying all sorts of, ‘stop talking now’, so Stiles does. Sort of. And he lets go of Lou’s shoulders. Wow, that is sweaty. That was a sweaty grip. That is, that was not helping the matter at all. That is, so now he’s going to sidle up to Derek and Derek’s going to work his charm and cool, casual, handsome man with sparkling eyes thing. Stiles is just going to, scoot across the room, stand next to him, clap his shoulders, and say, “this is my mate Derek, Derek this is Louise but she goes by Lou and she’s here to work on…”

His hand is extended for a shake, his face is probably doing all kinds of ‘I’m a cool guy, you can trust me even if my mate is borderline hysterical, no one here is going to hurt you’, but Stiles can’t look at it because he’s stuck on Lou’s face. Her face that is very much conveying an ‘I’m so over this’ vibe that even Derek can’t reverse. And her hand is reaching out because she’s being polite, and she’s kind of smiling, but it’s forced and tight-lipped and she’s eyeing his wet hair and when her eyes finally land on Derek’s, an ‘I have you figured out’ flashes across her blue irises and she smirks, “you’ve got very interesting eyes Derek Hale.”

And now it’s time to do some reversing. Rewind. Make the noise in your own head like a VHS tape that Stiles only even knows of their existence because that’s where all their home videos of his mother are stored. Were. Were stored. Stiles finally transferred them all over to a more acceptable and twenty-first century style of storage for his dad last year. They haven’t watched them yet. Not together anyway. Stiles watched them when he was reformatting them. And he just wasn’t ready to watch them with his dad. Some day. 

And with Derek’s shoulder under his hand he finds himself wishing Derek had something like that. Anything like that. A memory to rewatch instead of trying to find it in the unreliable space inside his head where he can’t remember every single line of his mother’s face or every single hue of his father’s eyes. Or Laura’s smile and the way her laugh sounded. 

Rewinding. Rewinding. No, nope, there was no mention ever of Derek being a Hale. And Lou’s not a local so it’s not like she just happened to know that the only family that owns any property in the Preserve is the Hale family. So either she researched that particular Beacon Hills fact or she is a supernatural creature here to take something. Something from Derek, the only full shift wolf in who-the-fuck-knows-radius, or something from Scott, the only true alpha in Beacon Hills, or maybe Peter with all his old lore. Lore. Family knowledge. Everyone hates Peter but he has his uses. 

Either way, now Derek’s nose twitches just a little like he’s trying to scent a supernatural while the cool facade doesn’t crack and his hand is still in hers for the shaking, but when he opens his mouth, she interrupts, “well, that’s probably enough studying for today,” releasing his hand, making for her backpack on the couch. 

“Yeah, so, um, I guess I’ll see you Tuesday, and um, I should,” Stiles is going to apologize for being insensitive. He’s not an insensitive guy. He’s not! He just has a bad habit of putting his foot in his mouth, “I’m a feminist. I am, I believe in equal rights for all genders. And I think that…” its interrupted by Derek throwing Stiles on the floor. A snap, bang, and swirl of dust like a mini-tornado in the living room. 

Stiles covers his head, but it doesn’t mean he isn’t going to be pissed at Derek for blocking whatever just happened, but it’s Derek. Derek will always protect first and think later. 

And in this particular case, Derek’s protect first and think later is really something he’s going to regret. 

By the time the dust clears, the Witch, Nymph, Sorceress, Mermaid for all Stiles knows is gone. Derek is wondering, “you okay?”

“Yeah,” Stiles’ eyes are having a really hard time believing what he’s seeing though. He’s seen a lot of things. Like a lot of things. And he’s seen a lot of things just in their marriage. And in his normal life. And even in his normal life before all the supernatural things. But this? This is… this is… this is Derek, um, big bad manly dark and handsome Derek, all six feet of him. Derek, all muscles and brood. Derek, all the most masculine things in the world like leather and blood and t-shirts with claw rips in them and dirty jeans and attitude. Derek. This is Derek. And Stiles might have laughed. He might have laughed for just a brief, just a tiny, split second of ‘I don’t know what to do so I laugh at inappropriate times and inappropriate things’, and now Derek all six feet of height and like two hundred pounds of muscles, okay so maybe one-hundred-ninety of all the bones, organs, and everything including the muscles not just the muscles; that Derek. That Derek.

That DEREK is a girl. !

And Stiles is certain that potion was supposed to hit him. And Stiles is the one that is supposed to be a girl. Oh the things that life will throw a person. Or the things that a witchy woman will throw a person. At a person maybe.

And Derek is being all Derek and making sure his mate is okay, in one piece, in one manly piece. As manly as Stiles has ever been. That he’s not even noticing that he’s not really Derek anymore. He’s still Derek, he is, Stiles is sure of this, but he certainly doesn’t look like Derek anymore. Well, if Stiles tilts his head the right way he does. He’s the same coloring. The same basic shape to his facial features, just softer. More feminine. Oh this is bad.

This is so bad.

He’s narrower. Still defined and strong, but just smaller. His hair is still short but with all the still-dampness to it, it’s still just a short hair cut that could be on any gender really. Or sex? Wait. Which is which? Okay, sex is genitalia, sex is physical. Of course it is. Duh. Not that kind of sex! Gender is emotional, mental, the in-the-brain and personality stuff. Right? 

Right.

Shit.

So Derek is right now the female sex. And the male gender. Oh. Of All. The. Things. 

And, well, those clothes he put on when he was still outside post-wolf bee-sting forced-shift incident. Well, those clothes, they sure in hell don’t fit anymore. 

“Uh Derek?” 

He’s squatted down in front of where Stiles is sitting now, with his back against the back of the couch, his hands are on Stiles’ face and he’s staring at him with the same eyes. Hazel. Green. And silver. He’s Derek. 

He is Derek. He sure is. He’s just a softer, gentler, narrower, curvier version of Derek. And his face is very much telling Stiles that all the Stiles silence is a deep concern right now. Much too deep of a concern for Derek to check any other thing in the room and see what the hell could possibly silence Stiles.

“You, um, you, well, you,” still just as dark but smaller eyebrows, still a little bushy for his now face but not overly bushy, just dark and heavy and still Derek but not Derek, are telling Stiles to out with it, “you’re a girl. You’re not a girl. You’re a man. Gender-wise. But, uh, sex-wise you are a girl. Are you a girl? Is your dick still somewhere in there? I mean, you have boobs. I can see those clearly through that worn out t-shirt that’s way too big now. And your pants are probably going to fall off when you stand up. Or will your newly curved hips keep them up? Is your dick in there? Please tell me your dick is…”

The longer Stiles talks the more screwed up Derek’s face is getting.

“Not that it matters. I mean, it was a potion. We can reverse it. Or it’ll wear off. And in the meantime you’re still Derek and even if it was permanent you’d still be Derek. No matter how you look, you’re still Derek. My mate for life. You just um, might be, uh, well, lacking your dangly bits?”

His eyes haven’t left Stiles’, like they’re afraid to look elsewhere, he reminds himself in a whisper, “home.”

“Yeah. Home. Here. Right here. Home. Me. Mate. Just, uh, you…”

“Can’t shift.”

“What?”

“I can’t shift,” he looks much more perturbed by this information than he did about the whole boobs and possible vagina thing. 

“Are you trying? Right now? Can you even get claws out? Can you…”

“I can’t scent you,” and this looks even more perturbing than the whole can’t shift thing.

“I, well, I,” Stiles inches closer. Wanting to do something, anything to attempt comfort, but he can’t really figure out if kissing him or holding him or any of that is okay right now. If he’s still, if he’s actually still, “Derek?” under all that. And it feels weird, like maybe he’d be cheating if he kissed this woman who is Derek but not Derek. 

“Yeah.”

“Let’s stay calm.”

“Yeah,” it sounds all strained and worried and it makes Stiles feel like he’s being shocked by seven million volts of electricity but he’s not going to freak out right now. He’s not. He is not going to freak out because Derek needs him not to freak out.

“Okay,” deep breath, “it was a potion, right? So we wait it out. Right? We wait and we take long, deep breaths and we wait. If we have to, we call Deaton. Or, do we know any witches? Was she a witch? She had to be, right? I mean, she threw some kind of vial on the floor, right? So deep breath, and find some pieces of the vial and bring it to Deaton? Deal?”

“Okay,” but he’s not moving yet. And his eerily calm expression is doing nothing to convince Stiles that he actually feels calm. His grip moving from Stiles’ face to his hands and not loosening is a clear read of ‘don’t leave me’. 

“After we sit here for a minute. We’ll sit here for a long time and breathe and maybe the potion will just breathe out, right? Wishful thinking, but you never know, she might be a witch in training and she might have only done like enough potion to last an hour or something and it might just fall right off. Only time will tell.”

——————

Yeah, well, the only thing time has to tell is Deaton saying, “it’s a strong potion. I can’t tell you how long it’ll last but if you can’t find the witch who cast the spell, then you’ll just have to wait it out. And in the meantime, Derek, if your powers are gone, please try to stay in one piece,” his arms crossed over his chest after he checked a bunch of Derek’s vitals and now he’s just staring at him. And Derek is staring right back, until a blush rises when Deaton sighs out an awe-struck, “you look just like your mother did when I met her.”

——————

All all the pack has to offer is Cora laughing her ass off, trying not to laugh her ass off, reminding him he’ll have to deal with the physical bliss of being a woman at some point if he’s stuck like this for long, leaving behind a bag of clothes and still shaking her head on her way out. 

And two weeks later when he’s still a girl, Lydia saying, “maybe we should call you something other than Derek.”

The overwhelming consensus being that he’s still Derek. Even if he doesn’t look like Derek. Or he does look like Derek. So he’s still Derek. And he’s going to remain ‘Derek’. 

Then Erica smirking and saying, “have fun figuring out your sex life,” with a wink and her hair thrown over her shoulder on the way out the door after three weeks.

And maybe they both avoid eye contact with each other because three weeks is an insanely long time to go without having sex. Like insanely long! And Stiles is uncertain of how dirty he should feel when he beats off on the regular to images of male Derek. And in the last couple of days those images have started adding female Derek. Maybe he should tell him that. But when his mouth opens and those eyes land on his, he wonders, “what should we make for dinner?” instead because that’s easier than talking even more about trying to track down this witch. Or even broaching the subject of sex right now. Even if Derek, (even more insanely withdrawn and quiet than usual for three weeks! now) standing there in the middle of their home with his skinny but muscled arms crossed over his breasts, his wedding ring on a chain resting in his cleavage looking at Stiles like he’s embarrassed of himself and he wants to melt into the floor and live in the basement with the water heater and all that stuff (not werewolf chaining supplies!), is still turning Stiles on. What?! It’s been three weeks since they had sex. Three weeks! And Derek is still Derek even if he has boobs and is shorter than Stiles now (which is weird as all hell since Stiles finally quit growing and they’ve been the same height since) and now he’s looking down at Derek. Down! Stiles is looking down at Derek! Or he would be if Derek would ever get close enough. 

So he gets it. This is a shock to the system. Derek spent twenty-some years of however many werewolf years as a man/boy and now he’s a woman. Boom. In a blink of an eye. After he’s already established his life and his marriage as a man. A man who always felt at home in his body. Whether it was human man, young boy or werewolf, or full shift wolf that he is now. Or was, until the potion took that too. 

He is giving Derek space. He has been giving Derek space for three weeks now. Derek has been sleeping with his back to Stiles. He has been disappearing into the woods. He has been not reappearing until late in the evening. He’s been quiet about his whereabouts. Making Stiles do all the talking all the time. Which, is not really that strange, but it’s strange and it’s uncomfortable. And he doesn’t know how to fix this or get his husband to look at him or talk to him or touch him or anything! 

It’s a Friday night and Stiles doesn’t have any school work to keep himself busy and if he was a real college kid with real single college kid problems and social life and all that boring stuff that happens on campus, he’d be at a frat party or something awful right now trying to get laid and trying to act like parties aren’t just a complete and total ring of social terror for someone with social anxiety so he’d get piss drunk to cover the anxiety to try to fit in and he’d end up passed out or puking on himself before he could even get laid anyway so it’s not like he’s missing anything. And he has to work tomorrow, maybe his dad kind of created a job for him at the station, but since it’s in his major anyway it’ll look good on his application for future career endeavors even if it was his dad that made the job it was Stiles that got the job. By being a hard worker. And obsessive. And good at it. He might be the butt of every joke in the station but that mostly happens with every new employee, right? Right. 

So, sit at home with broody woman former man wolf? Who Stiles is pretty sure hates his guts for getting him hit with that potion in the first place, if Stiles had just been able to keep his damn mouth shut for like thirty damn seconds and keep his stupid foot out of it, “Derek!” his hands run through his hair, tugging it in all directions, “I’m sorry, okay? I am. I’m an idiot and I got you stuck this way and I want to make it okay, but I don’t know how to make it okay. And I can’t make it okay if I’m not even allowed to touch you or look at you or curl up on the couch with you and watch a marathon of whatever the latest Netflix show is that we’re missing because we’ve been so busy fighting supernatural threats for the entirety of our relationship instead of spending occasional Friday nights sitting on the couch like normal couples. And now we’re not fighting supernatural creatures for the first time in how ever many years we’ve known each other but I can’t do normal stuff with you because I got you turned into a woman. And you hate being a woman. Don’t you? So you hate me by proxy. Proxy-ish. I guess,” now his hand is scratching the back of his head while the other digs itself into his pocket and comes up with his fidget ball. Which, then both hands take as an invitation to fidget with, and maybe the whole soothing thing is the right thing to call it. 

While Derek is standing in the middle of the room looking all sad. All kinds of sad. The same way he’s looked for three weeks now. And Stiles isn’t even sure if it’s the ‘can’t shift, can’t scent, can’t heal, can’t run super fast, can’t superhuman strength my way through life, can’t howl at the moon’ part of it, or the ‘I’m stuck in a human woman’s body’ part of it. Because Derek won’t talk to him. That’s why.

It’s probably both. It’s probably both of those things. So it’s not like he needs Derek to vocalize any of that, and he can tell by his posture and his lack of words, but maybe he should just hear something like, “I love you. No matter what form you take,” and his eyes crawl up his husband’s body at that. Lingering for a minute on the wedding band against his chest. Up his neck, sorely lacking an Adam’s Apple and stubble. His mouth, lips that don’t look much different. Nose that’s daintier. Landing on his eyes. Eyes that are exactly the same. Exactly as breathtaking as they’ve been always. Even more breathtaking with the silver veins. 

Stiles lets himself feel it, the way his inhale gets stuck there, in the back of his throat when those eyes are on his. The way his heart thuds so hard, suspends itself there in his chest before it starts thumping a painful rhythm of love, lust, thrill, want, need; the same rhythm he’s always pumped blood through his still beating heart whenever Derek is around. And Derek can’t hear that anymore. And he can’t smell that anymore. And maybe that’s the bulk of it. 

“Come here?”

His eyes drop, gaze landing on the floor between them. Unmoving.

“K. Then I’ll come there. That’s fine,” he does it quickly. Doesn’t stop moving until they’re toe to toe. Derek’s smaller and more bony (not that his face hasn’t always been carved from stone) than they used to be. Lydia wanted to paint his nails the other day when she was here. He declined. By walking away. Without a word. Because that’s how Derek is. 

“Hand,” Stiles orders. Shoving the fidget ball back in his pocket, putting both of his out between them. Palm up. And waiting. 

Derek’s eyes have made their way back up, but haven’t met Stiles’ yet. They’re locked onto his throat. Probably debating the easiest human way to rip out a throat. Can’t be teeth. Stiles feels strangely smug about this. 

Shit, that’s not the point. It takes seriously five years for Derek to finally reach out. Okay, so maybe like five seconds and a few squirms from Stiles. His hand kind of lingers overtop of Stiles’ left one. Palm down. His hand is still big for a woman, and they’re calloused in all the ways they’ve always been since Derek is still Derek no matter what form he’s in and there’s dirt under his nails. But they’re gorgeous hands. They are whether they’re male or female or paws. They’re gorgeous. And that hyperactive heart throws itself at Stiles’ ribcage again when the hand finally lands on Stiles’. 

He takes a deep breath, brings the hand to his chest. Presses it, palm down, over his heart that’s still beating the rhythm of Derek. Both of his hands holding Derek’s right one there. There, right there, waiting for him to feel it. To feel that pattern. The pattern he used to be able to hear instead. 

Stiles doesn’t have to say a damn thing. Doesn’t have to explain any of it. Derek knows this rhythm. It’s ‘Stiles loves Derek’ rhythm. And it doesn’t need words, but just in case his wolfy senses and human senses are both shorted out, “I love you Derek. You. In every form.”

The silver veins in his eyes throb and oh no. Oh no. That was not the intention. Oh tears. Tears. There are tears. In Derek’s eyes. 

But it’s okay. It’s alright. Because the tears, they serve to make Derek hide his face. And in hiding his face, it lands right on Stiles’ chest. Right over the ‘Stiles loves Derek’ pattern of his heart. And it makes his arms rise, wrap around Stiles’ waist. And holy. All the things holy. And all the things unholy. It has been three weeks since Stiles has had his husband pressed against his body. And it is doing all the things it does every single time. Relief and love and flames of lust that he’s trying like hell to douse, and home, and comfort and gentle butterflies. The butterflies of mate, not of anxiety. There’s a difference. And a deep breath, a deep breath when Stiles’ face meets the top of Derek’s head where his hair is still short but maybe a little longer and maybe styled like girly hair and it’s okay even if it’s not Derek it’s still DEREK. And, “Stiles loves Derek,” and is apparently Tarzan now. Tarzan? Yeah, Tarzan.

“I love you too,” it’s shaky with tears and it’s soft and it’s broken, but it’s still true. And it still makes all the things happen. All the twisty comfort and relief and feeling like he’s coming down from an anxiety attack happen in Stiles’ body. And he’s just going to stand here with his arms around his husband and his face buried in his hair for the rest of his damn life. And he dares anyone natural or supernatural to pry him off.

So that whole thing about ‘every marriage has an adjustment period Stiles, you’re not special’? Well, Lydia can screw herself. Because they are special.

And long story short? Stiles pissed off a witch and she turned Derek into a girl because Derek couldn’t just let Stiles take the hit for once. Yep. That’s the long story short.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh, how long is he going to be stuck in a female body? And how will they iron out their sex life? What will his female body throw him that he's never experienced as a male before? How will he get his shift back? Oh, the drama...


	3. And He's Still A Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I married a werewolf... And he's still a girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: the sex-swap is still in place here. Physically speaking there is some M/F sexual content. Also there is self-mutilation via burn (canon werewolf tattooing process).
> 
> Navigating a female body is hard work.

And He’s Still A Girl

“I’m still the little spoon.”

“You’re still the little spoon and a giant baby,” Derek sighs behind Stiles. Settling in against his back. His boobs nestled right up against Stiles’ shoulder-blades.

So Stiles isn’t exactly proud of the moment he got down on his knees and begged his husband to have sex with him. But he did it. And then when Derek agreed, Stiles backed out because it felt like it was coerced or consent was only given out of pity. So instead, Stiles gave a lecture on female anatomy and they decided the best bet for Derek trying out his new ride was to test drive it all by himself sometime when Stiles was at class. 

That agreement didn’t exactly stop the anatomy lecture and Stiles went so far as to pull out a chart in a pamphlet that he took from the hospital a few days earlier when he stopped to ask Melissa some burning questions. And not literal burning like bodily fluid burning or anything so don’t go there. Burning like the saying. Of burning questions. 

So buying a dildo wasn’t his favorite thing in the world either. But he did. A nice beginner’s sized one. And then he stared at the Derek sized ones and got really lonesome for Derek’s dick. But he can’t say that stuff to Derek because Derek already feels bad enough in his new body and already hates it enough and it would only make him feel worse if Stiles agreed that his old body was much better and could offer much more pleasurable experiences for both of them. 

And explaining the female body to his husband like he’s some dumb kid who has never seen a vagina before. He went there too. Needless to remind here that Derek has seen more naked women than Stiles has or ever will see. But the only naked woman Stiles wants to see is Derek. Form. Naked woman form. It’s still Derek. Two months of Derek.

Oh yeah, the period panic was real. Stiles came home to find Derek locked in the bathroom unable to hide his sobs. All the tears that he produces now. It’s horrible. Wrenches Stiles’ heart right out of his chest every single time and part of him wonders if Derek would be more open in his female hormoned glory to talk about things like his family. But Stiles isn’t sure he could hear about how the fire truly effected him, it’s not like he doesn’t already know even with all the lack of words and whole of zero conversations they’ve had about it. Heart to hearts aren’t exactly a guy kind of thing. Even if they do sometimes talk about the little things. The little things that they’d never talk about with anyone else. Like remembering sitting on his mom’s lap and reading James And The Giant Peach. Derek’s mom’s book choices were much different. Actually, Stiles is pretty sure she never read out of books when they read. Well, told stories. Lore. Yep. Lore. Family lore and legends. History of how to live like a wolf inside the body of a human. All the good things that someday Derek will have to teach their pups. 

What? Wait. No. Not really. Or maybe. What if they used a surrogate? And Derek’s sperm. Then they would have a wolf baby. But they’d have to use a supernatural surrogate. Just in case the whole humans carrying wolf pups being a bad thing is true. Like a three month gestation period for a wolf might mess up the nine month for a human. Forty weeks for a human. So if the baby developed at wolf speed that would probably not end well for the mama. 

Or maybe they should just adopt. There are plenty of human babies that need homes. And Stiles is a human. He is as human as human can be. And right now Derek is too. And Derek is a very human female. Physically. Oh and physically? Damn. He feels just as good as Derek has ever felt. Yeah, sure, there are plenty of other things in the way that didn’t used to be in the way, and plenty of testing and experimenting and guessing that Stiles had to do to get to this point where Derek is actually satisfied. He might have started wrong with the whole begging for sex thing. Then asking too many questions about Derek’s masturbation schedule and Derek blushing at him and pretending he couldn’t hear him or just blatantly ignoring him. Oh that’s a fun thing now, Derek can pretend he can’t hear him whenever he wants. Now without his wolf ears, he can actually pretend he didn’t hear him, and Stiles doesn’t really know if he’s pretending or not because he just doesn’t hear it and keeps walking away, usually out the door and doesn’t respond. 

He made it through the test drive of his own new ride and there was plenty of awkwardness when he finally let Stiles touch him. And it felt weird and somehow wrong. Like he was cheating on his husband and like he was still coercing him somehow just because it’s been so obvious that Derek hates the body so much that he was resisting being touched. Then Stiles ended up just leaning over him, kissing him for a century while his hand turned to stone on Derek’s stomach and yeah, of course his body was turned on and ready to hump Derek’s leg but he wasn’t going to. He wasn’t! It’s not like Derek would be able to get his female self off by humping Stiles’ leg so it wasn’t like Stiles was about to do it. That whole frottage thing. Maybe a girl who has embraced her clitoris could get off that way, but a guy who is stuck in a girl’s body that he hates? Nope. Probably not. 

So his hand frozen there and finally Derek just picked it up and steered it to between his legs and it’s a good thing Stiles has never had a care in the world about what body Derek is in. Whether it’s the muscles and wolf grace and perfect dick or if he was overweight and sloppy and had a chode. Well, maybe not. It’s not like Stiles has ever actually seen a chode but he’s not sure he’d be able to without laughing. No! That’s not true, he would not laugh. He is not the kind of person that would laugh at anyone’s physical nature. Or super-nature. 

His hand was on Derek’s lady business but his head was going insane so he stopped kissing him long enough to tell him, “I’m a traffic jam,” since the whole no more wolfy senses thing.

And Derek with his pretty eyes and his feminine face, nodded, stroked a hand through Stiles’ hair and said, “I know. It’s okay. It’s still me.”

Stiles’ mate Derek. Yep. That guy. 

Back to now. Right now. Derek is behind Stiles with his arm draped over his chest and hands locked together on his heart. Since Derek can’t hear his heart beating for him. So he has to feel it now. 

Derek has been a girl for two months. When the period panic rose, Stiles very very calmly (he’s capable of calm, damn it!) explained through the door that he had a box of various feminine products under the sink already. He was prepared. Like a boy scout. He was never a boy scout. But anyway, he was prepared. Well, Lydia was prepared. Maybe when they moved out here she just sort of left a bunch of feminine products in the bathroom for when various female pack members ended up here and needed them. So they were there. And Stiles organized them in a nice little box. Marked ‘Feminine Products’. It makes sense.

Then he might have lingered outside the door for awhile and listened to Derek cry, trying not to cry, trying to be silent about crying. And Stiles might have gone on a very long rant about the difference between pads and tampons and slims and supers and whatever because he researched this stuff when Derek was a girl for two weeks and he kind of figured if it wasn’t broken soon, well it’s usually a week a month, so yeah, doesn’t take a math genius to figure out that if he’s a girl for four weeks, well then he’s probably going to have to face Aunt Flo. 

And the dildo? Yeah, Derek never used the dildo. Derek and his whole natural living thing, being raised a wolf in the woods, so of course Derek didn’t use it. Not on himself anyway. What? A man has needs. And maybe the best way to get back into the intimacy after all was to do something they were both familiar with and sure, a dildo’s got nothing on a real dick, especially a Derek dick, but holy hell sometimes breaking the ice is the hardest part of any step in any relationship. It worked. At least it worked. 

It worked and now they’ve had sex and Derek is wrapped around Stiles’ back where he should be. It feels different, obviously, but it feels the same. The pattern of his breath and the way his calloused palm rubs like sandpaper on the back of Stiles’ hand. So it feels the same. Even if it doesn’t. And Stiles is totally sated and tired and he can still taste Derek’s feminine flavor on his tongue and it’s just fine, it’s Derek. And the ice is broken because Stiles’ face was all up in there even if his cock wasn’t. It’s still sex. It’s still intimate. And they’re both satisfied. 

“Hey,” his voice is starting to get heavy along with his eyelids, but Derek needs to know before he passes out, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” it’s sighed against his spine and it rises goosebumps just like always and then his lips press gently to flesh and spark a chill. 

——————

Derek has been a girl for three months. Three months! Three! And the pack still hasn’t tracked down that damn witch. And Deaton still hasn’t figured out a way to reverse the potion. And Derek still can’t shift. 

And after the first five minutes of feeling like he was stealing Derek’s virginity and there was too much pressure and he didn’t know how to act or what to say so he kept asking, “is this okay? Are you okay? Why do I feel like you’re not enjoying this? Why are you looking at me like that? Am I putting too much weight on you?”

It’s not his finest. Okay? He knows that. Stiles knows that he’s not the best under this kind of pressure. Under the pressure of being ripped apart by a supernatural creature? He’s great under that pressure. Being possessed and nearly killed by a demon fox spirit? He’s fine under that pressure. Holding giant mass of muscle Derek up in a pool for three hours? He’s just dandy under that kind of pressure. 

But the pressure of making love to his husband in a female form for the first time after he’s been trapped that way for three months? Not good. Not good pressure for Stiles.

And he can’t even focus on how good it feels because it feels wrong. But it feels good. And he feels somehow dirty. Like he’s cheating. But he’s not cheating. There is no one and nothing on this planet who has those eyes. Those eyes that are breathtaking and gorgeous in all the lights with all the colors they’ve ever been and the human eyes that are hazel green with silver veins that don’t throb now that his wolfy magic is gone, but they’re still there, they just don’t read his moods like the silver mood ring that they were. They’re still beautiful. Especially with the moon casting an eery glow on them. Making him shine like shards of glass in an expanse of black dirt. Or something.

“Why do I feel like you’re not enjoying this?” that one again. Really Stiles? And now his brows are asking that exact question and his mouth is not moving and Stiles feels like he’s stuck by the dick in the vagina and it’s weird and he’s not sure he likes it but he likes it because it’s Derek and he knows it’s Derek and there’s no one else it could be. Especially when he sighs, and manhandles Stiles onto his back without losing point of connection, puts all his weight on his palms on Stiles’s chest and takes over. That easily. And how the hell did he do that so easily if he doesn’t have his superhuman strength yet? Or his man size? He’s like a buck thirty. 

“How’d you just do the so easily?” hands have found hips. Derek’s hips. Wider and softer than his old hips. 

“What do you think I do all day?”

“Uh, not watch soap operas.”

“Exactly,” oh and now he’s rolling his hips. 

“Oh god.” 

And he probably still spends his days working out and running through the woods and doing all the things he’s always done to maintain physical strength, but it just, he’s a tiny girl! So not tiny. He’s still tall. And he’s still muscled. It’s just different now. 

And, “oh god,” Stiles’ eyes roll shut as Derek’s hips rock. Oh Hale. When he has his man form back, he’s going to need to ride Stiles’ dick like he is right now. Right now, and, “holy, Derek, just,” if he doesn’t slow down he’s going to be unlawfully discharging Stiles’ weapon, “slow. Shit, just,” his fingers are digging into Derek’s hips and his breath is caught in his throat. The speed doesn’t slow. The motion gets impossibly more charged and when Stiles opens his eyes to get a read on Derek’s expression he’s met with the surprise of his head thrown back in complete ecstasy, back arched deeply, and boobs. Just boobs. And that’s, “Derek,” and he’s twisting like he’s being possessed and Stiles is certain if he was still part wolf that his claws would be out. Oh shit, he’s glad he’s not part wolf since those paws are still pressed down hard on Stiles’ chest. 

Now something is coming out of his mouth. Something that makes Stiles react in the only way his basic pleasure seeking missile will allow him to. By grabbing his hips and driving up towards Derek’s downward grind until Derek is gasping and choking on breath, falling forwards to slump against Stiles’ chest and ride a shudder right along with him. His face tucked into Stiles’ neck when his arms rise and wrap around him, holding him close. 

Damn. That, that is so much Derek. And so much sexy. And so much sweat glazed skin on sweat glazed skin. And so much panted breath against his neck. And so much, “Derek,” and Stiles wants nothing more than to just hold him all night right there, and, “can we do that again?”

“I’m pretty sure I have the advantage right now as far as multiple rounds are concerned,” it’s half-muffled in his neck, but all true.

It’s so much true that when they finally decide there’s no way in Hell Stiles could go another round without some kind of rest period, it’s starting to get light out. Shit, the moon is long gone. The sky is lightening, early Spring blue with fingers of wispy grey clouds spreading wide from behind the tree-line. 

“Damn,” Stiles’ hands comb through Derek’s hair, tilting his head back in the process to get a long look at his face, his gorgeous eyes, his lips turned up into a sated smile. If he was a wolf, he’d be taking a beauty nap and then howling his way through the Preserve. Stiles doesn’t have to ask it to know it, but he should say, “you know you’re gorgeous, right?” because Derek deserves to hear it, “in every single form you’ve ever been,” and the only time he’ll let Stiles say things like this is when he’s sexhausted and nearly asleep, “and every form possible. You’re gorgeous.”

——————

Stiles is also not too proud of the night he finally convinces Derek to just go to a damn club, have a few drinks, have a good time. Without his wolf senses it won’t be that bad. It just won’t.

Too bad Stiles didn’t take into consideration that Derek has never been in a club before in his girl body and he’s kind of wondering by about an hour in if Derek has ever been in a club or at a party or a rave or any of that shit, ever. Even in his man form. 

Because Derek? He has no idea how to act. He has a drink and he scrunches his nose and asks why the hell people drink that shit and orders a water. He gets hassled by the jerk next to him when he orders it. The jerk thinks he’s flirting or something and Derek does his hardest to ignore, or make him certain he’s uninterested but all it does is make the jerk get even more annoying and try even harder to get his attention and Stiles is about to wrap his arm around him and make sure he knows Derek is taken when Derek throws a right hook. And Stiles does not trip on his way to grab Derek and drag him away. He doesn’t. But in the time he’s righting himself, Derek throws a left jab just to make his point. He might be a buck-thirty but he’s a strong buck-thirty and the guy was not expecting to be punched in the jaw by a girl. That he was hitting on and crossing too many boundaries with and he pretty much deserved it, but now Stiles is wondering how many times that shit happens to girls just because they’re ‘pretty’. 

He manages to, very smoothly, haul Derek out of the club. It was too loud anyway. Even for non-wolf ears. And there were too many wandering eyes that were wandering too close to Derek’s ass. 

So a neighborhood bar it is. Well, not their neighborhood because if they ran into people that they knew then how the hell would Stiles explain who he’s with and why he’s holding her hand when he’s married to a guy and why he keeps putting his hand on her back and kissing the side of her head? And when he goes to the bathroom, after an hour in which all seems to be going smoothly and Derek’s attention is solidly rooted on the baseball game on TV and there’s not even a soul who has side-eyed him in the time that Stiles has been next to him, well when he comes back from the bathroom, turns out someone must have been eyeballing him and that someone has Derek’s left wrist in his grasp when Stiles comes back over and Derek’s very homicidal glare is burning holes in the guy’s face but for whatever reason he’s not letting go. Stiles only gets close enough to hear something muttered about a ring, and then Derek’s free hand smashing a glass on the bar and that’s when Stiles grabs him and does not stumble over anything. He is smooth as melted butter when he grabs him this time and steers him ever so calmly out the front door of the friendly establishment.

So a movie and pizza it is. Movie on the couch. At home. Where Derek wonders, “how the hell do women put up with men?”

Stiles has no idea how to answer that.

——————

There’s a problem at the grocery store that prompts Derek to tattoo his ring on his ring finger. Too bad Derek is not a wolf anymore! And Derek is burning the piss out of his ring finger with a torch when Stiles gets home from class and he’s sweating and panting and grunting but not fucking stopping the burning! What the fuck is wrong with him?! 

And he’s crying. And Stiles does not have to struggle that hard at all to get him to stop. What? He doesn’t. Like he said, Derek’s only a buck-thirty. 

And he’s sobbing into Stiles’ chest immediately when he drags him to his feet and wraps his arms around him, hands sliding up and down his back. Slowly, gently, hiding his face in the top of Derek’s head that smells like girly hair product now and it’s weird that Stiles has gotten to like it but goddamn he misses Derek’s man hair. He runs his fingers through it when he tilts Derek’s head back to look at his tear-shot eyes, reminding him, “I love you,” because maybe it’s all that can make it’s way past his throat right now and he has no idea what else to say but he’s really wondering how the hell women put up with men when men do things like walk in to see their woman/man burning a tattoo on his finger where his ring is supposed to be, and all he can say is, “I love you,” again in case his wolf ears and human ears are deaf. 

He lets Derek shake out of his grasp without putting up a fight. Nuzzle his way back into Stiles’ neck and whimper out a really pathetic, “I miss your scent. You really just stink now. Before it was lemons. Now it’s half-cooked onions.”

“Wow, thanks Firefly, that’s just, you know, I warned you. I told you it smelled like the dumpster behind the sub sandwich shop to humans. And you insisted it was just lemons, sometimes just a spritz of lemons in water, sometimes a whole damn bowl of them all being cut into at the same time. And I’m pretty sure walking into the house to your husband burning his finger with a damn blow torch is pretty acceptable time to smell like anxiety and right now if you were still wolf then you’d be smelling a lemon orchard after a terrible natural disaster that splits all the lemons in half and the scent of them overtakes an entire city. But I promise you, the smell of old onion seeping through my layers of shirt, is not nearly as bad as my husband’s burning flesh. Okay? Jesus, what hell were you doing?!”

He waits patiently, very patiently. And he lets Derek nuzzle against his collarbone even if he can’t scent him, it’s still some kind of comfort thing at this point. And Stiles waits very patiently. And he waits so patiently for a heavy sigh, “a culinary torch.”

“Same thing!” and now he flails. His hands falling to Derek’s shoulders to push him away from his chest, but not all the way away, because he still wants to be touching him so he knows that Stiles is not pushing him away away, just away, to look at his face, his eyes. Oh, his eyes, his eyes are all loaded up with tears and it rips a hole right through Stiles’ chest, “did you just forget you were not a wolf anymore? Temporarily,” he reminds them both, “temporarily not a wolf anymore. So you were just reminding yourself that you can’t heal or something? And I’m going to need to look at that. And I really don’t want to look at that. But it’s that or, yeah, no, I’m not looking at that. We’re going to Deaton. What the hell Derek?”

His eyes drop to Stiles’ chest, raise to his neck to watch him swallow, then admits quietly, “my wedding ring doesn’t fit me," that doesn't really need to be said since it's on a necklace. 

“There are stores! Stores where there are cheap rings to replace it. Or online shopping. There is online shopping and then you don’t even have to, doesn’t that hurt? Why aren’t you screaming in pain right now?”

He shrugs, moving Stiles’ hands with his shoulders. Well, maybe it’s like the physical pain is nothing compared to the emotional pain or something so he’s not going to ask, maybe he should just look. He should just look. He can look. He can do that. Deep breath and he can do that, no, no he can’t, “you look.”

The Derek expression of ‘you’re a giant baby and it’s just a tiny burn on a tiny finger you big giant baby’ still comes through loud and clear even when he’s female. But at least he looks, then he shrugs, “still a burn.”

And he says it with such nonchalance that Stiles looks. And the room spins. Oh no. Oh, that is the ground making a rush towards him like a werewolf wearing lacrosse gear. Yep, that is the ground. 

So screw Lydia. This is not a normal adjustment in a normal marriage. Damn it.


	4. And Now We're Having Pups

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I married a werewolf and now we're having pups!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This is sort of an Mpreg, but not really since Derek is still in a female body. When the pups are born he's a wolf. A female one. And the birth scene doesn't happen, but they are born in this chapter. We just don't see it happen. 
> 
> I guess I should also point out that some of the bigger canon traumas exist in this one, including the Hale fire and the Nogitsune. However, I'm not diving deep into that trauma for this work, I'm wanting this one to stay light. So they are background noise. But also I changed some things - like some deaths not happening so the original pack is still alive and well. And we'll just pretend that everyone gets along.

And Now We’re Having Pups

Here’s another fun adjustment. Screw you very much Lydia. When two men are used to having sex without protection because one of them is a werewolf so it’s not like he can even get human STIs and the other was definitely very clean anyway when they first started banging after so much pent up sexual energy and maybe aggression, but it was still kind of unplanned and whatever, that’s not the point. The point is when two men are in an established relationship in which both parties trust each other and there’s no way in Hell either one of them would step out on the other, why the hell would they ever use protection? Seriously. Why? 

Well, here’s why they should have. Because now? Now that Derek has been stuck in a female body for five months (!) and they have not used protection (because why would they even think of that?), and why would Derek, who has been a male all his life actually think, ‘hey maybe now that I’m suddenly human and a human girl instead of the wolfman I’ve always been, I should get a family doctor or go down to the free clinic, establish a patient chart and get myself on some birth control’? He had enough going on his head and in his body, a pill or a patch or an intrauterine device or a ring or all the options that neither of them even thought of including a damn rubber, was not high on the list. 

So now? Now Derek is getting all round and sensitive to smells. And sensitive like he gags every time Stiles comes near him with a piece of gum in his mouth, and he makes terrible, horrible, very homicidal faces at the coffee pot every morning and when it’s done brewing, he immediately dumps the whole pot in a thermos, closes the lid as tight as it’ll go and sets it on the doorstep for Stiles on his way out the door. Then cleans the pot very thoroughly before he stops murdering it with his eyes.

And his boobs are tender even though he won’t admit it. And he keeps falling asleep. Not just at night. Like every time he sits down. And he keeps looking at food like he’d rather lick the bottom a muddy boot than eat a meal. And he’s stopped cooking.

Oh, and he has the cutest little belly starting to protrude form all that muscle. Yes, buck-thirty girl Derek has a six-pack too. And it’s sexy.

So when Stiles actually does the math in his head, and he realizes that it’s been six weeks since Derek had a period. So that means he’s about one month pregnant in human terms but in wolf terms, he’s at the end of the first trimester. So, Stiles is going to have to ask Deaton some serious questions. And if he’s got a little rounded belly already after only four weeks on a human pregnancy then he’s either got a litter, or he’s going to do this in wolf years. Not wolf years, since the whole werewolves age slower thing and they still have to figure out how that’s going to work since Stiles does not want to be an old man with a young Derek on his arm and he’s thinking if there’s going to be pups involved then he should take the bite so he can live werewolf years too and have all the time. Every day until the very end. But he’s not sure if he wants the bite. He just, it’s maybe a pride thing at this point. He’s not even sure. Fear of death maybe. 

So by the start of week five Derek has big boobs. Like big boobs. And his little belly is getting bigger by the day and he still hasn’t said anything and he’s just pretending his sudden and very very insane increase in libido is nothing to talk about, but Stiles is certain that is dick is going to be rubbed not just raw but right off, just right off, by the time week six starts and he’s still not talking about it but there has to be a way to bring it up without freaking Derek out even though Derek knows because Derek is not stupid. Derek knows he’s pregnant. Yes, Derek is pregnant! and ?!. Maybe. And this is so not something normals could handle. 

But Stiles is pretty sure that by the end of week six, which in human terms is not much, it’s not even time to tell the parents much less the friends and coworkers, but in wolf terms it’s time to buy a crib yesterday, or last month, and paint a room, and read the books. All the books. And get a midwife since it’s not like they can just have pups in a hospital, can they? Should they? They need to. They need to if something goes wrong. They need all the specialists and all the machines and all the life-saving technology on the Earth. All of it. 

And they need a stroller and a bunch of clothes and all the safety gear. Maybe even a bubble to put the pup in. Or baby. Okay, seriously, how is this going to work? Is human female Derek going to give birth to hairy little pups? Or is it going to be a baby and it doesn’t experience it’s first shift until puberty like Derek did. Or did Derek ever clarify which way that went? Was he born pup and when he hit pup puberty was when he shifted to human? Or was he born human and when he hit human puberty he shifted to wolf? He said he spent the first six of them chained up in the basement. But that could mean either one, right? So most likely born human, then. Maybe. 

“Derek?”

“Hmm,” his head is resting on Stiles’ chest, pumping up and down with every beat that now he has to listen to with his human ears and it’s about to knock his head right off his chest if Stiles doesn’t take a breath in short order. Because now? Now he’s thinking about all the gear they need and don’t have and all the money they’ll have to spend and hopefully Derek still has some stashed away from selling his buildings because kids are really expensive whether human or wolf. 

So, shit, “are you…”

“I have to pee,” yeah, because that didn’t just happen five minutes ago. Derek getting up to pee, groaning like his spine was exploding, then curling back up on the couch and watching the series that Stiles is not watching since his brain is locked onto wolf baby or human baby or both. And all the things. All of those things. 

And now he’s wondering if Derek’s head has been doing all the same things, but it’s happening in his body so he’s feeling it all the time and it’s not even something he can put on the back burner while he’s at class since he doesn’t go to class, and it’s a good thing Stiles’ semester will be over in two weeks so he can be here for the last trimester and maybe a month is long enough to get all the things done. But will Derek have to be on bedrest to save his human body from the torture of the last stage of development all happening in a four week period instead of more like three months?

Oh God. Oh Holy. Oh all the things Holy. Oh Hale, “I know you’re pregnant and I’m fucking terrified and I’m happy and I’m confused and I’m overwhelmed and I’m worried, and I love you.”

His eyebrows are reading, ‘is that all?’ as he stops stone-cold in the middle of the room.

Stiles’ eyes drop to take in his form. His beautiful rounding out form that yeah, Stiles misses the big hunk of man, but he’s so soft and pretty and round, and luscious right now, and, “you’re gorgeous.”

He snorts, that one that reads clear as day that he thinks his husband is an idiot, but there’s the cutest little blush spreading and it’s spreading all over his cheeks. It’s so cute, it’s so cute that Stiles has to get up and wrap his arms around him, wait until he tucks his face into his neck and try like hell not to smile like the biggest damn idiot on the planet ‘cause Derek just nodded. He just nodded. All the way back to that opening sentence. He is nodding his agreement. Not really agreement, that’s not what it is, it’s confirmation. And now that it’s been confirmed Stiles doesn’t know what the hell he’s supposed to do. There are so many things, too many things, and the only thing that matters is right here in his arms. And that thing is holding, carrying, he’s carrying the only other important thing. Or things. Oh shit, they need to hurry up and get an ultrasound and make sure Derek is taking the right vitamins and getting the right amount of rest and nutrition and he’s stress-free and he’s ready physically and emotionally and mentally. And they need all the things. They need all the gear and all the protective things to put on the cabinets and block the stairs and how do they keep them away from the creek?! How do they keep them from getting carried off by a, um, eagle? Because seriously if a wolf carried them off, it’d be one that they know. So there’s nothing to fear from that, no big bad wolf going to carry off their pups.

“We’re having pups,” comes out of Stiles’ mouth, slithers around Derek’s ear and well, just in case, “we’re having pups!” and kisses. All the kisses. All the kisses Derek can stand before his lips hit some ticklish spots and he’s squirming in Stiles’ arms until he squirms his way out far enough for Stiles to push his hair back, lean against his face, kiss his lips quickly and admit, “I’m excited.”

“I can tell,” he doesn’t sound too thrilled, but Stiles can tell by the tiniest hint of a smile lingering in the corners of his lips, and the sparkle in his eyes that he’s excited too. 

——————

All of that excitement has most definitely worn off by the time the last week rolls around. And it’s hot out, and Derek is hot and he’s panting all night long and tossing and turning all over the bed and yanking blankets off to toss them on the floor and one minute his breath is hot on Stiles’ neck and the next he’s huffing towards the ceiling then he’s grinding his butt back against Stiles’. And it’s the worst. Thank all the things that Stiles is done with school so when it gets to be too damn much to just lie there and listen to all the discomfort, he can just get up no matter the hour of the night and get back to work on the nursery. 

The nursery with two cribs in it. Two. Though now that he’s read every book and every blog and every possible piece of information he could possibly fit into his head with all the other cars and trucks piled up in that traffic jam, he’s certain that they’ll just be sleeping in pack-n-plays in their bedroom. Under the moonroof. For at least the first six months. If not year. As long as Derek is breastfeeding most likely. Which, hopefully will be at least a year. But it’s twins. So that’s a lot. But if he makes it through the first month then it’ll get better from there. Oh and there’s that whole thing he read about the nipples and he feels so bad for those nipples. And he’s so glad he’s not the one that got hit by that potion. Holy Hale he’s glad for that. 

It’s not helping that Derek has been staying away from all things pack and all things family and all things friends ever since the potion. Partially because of the whole ‘I feel weird in a girl’s body’ thing and partially since he has to try a lot harder to stay in one healthy piece now that he’s human. But now? Now he is even worse about not wanting anyone around. And Stiles doesn’t blame him, it’s not like he’d want people around staring at his belly and his boobs and asking if they can touch him and how he feels and if he needs anything and, “you need anything?”

The murderous glare answers plenty. 

“Okay,” wiping his hands on the rag with smears of all the paint colors on it. He’s not exactly an artist, but since he decided he’d paint the nursery himself with some kind of outdoor scene like the yard, kind of. Ish. Well, it’s something alright. It’s green and blue and there are raspberry bushes and lilies and it’s not the worst thing in the world. It isn’t, alright? It’s just, maybe he should have had Lydia do it. Or something. But she said it wasn’t bad, and not bad coming from Lydia is pretty good. So, he’s going to go with good. Good enough for a baby room. They’re babies, they can’t even see the wall for like, um, he knows this one, shit, he totally knows this one, shit, “how many weeks old before…”

Oh, a growl. Well aren’t we just reverting back to our old ways. Cute, “cute, very cute Derek. I hope our pups have the same manners and vocal communication skills that you do. I’m going to the grocery store, do you need…”

Another growl. That is, that is something. But strangely enough it sounds like his real growl. His real wolfman growl. Not full wolf growl. But that one that comes out sometimes when he’s got claws out and those flashing eyes. But still has his eyebrows. That stage of wolfman.

Okay, so maybe he’ll take his damn time in the store. Because Derek, who has been even more anti-social than ever, maybe just needs some time alone. The problem with Derek being anti-social is that he’s a pack animal. Not just the wolf part but the human part too, but he’s so completely withdrawn and mopey right now, more so than just the broodywolf that he’s always been, it’s making Stiles really worry. But time alone, maybe some time alone will be good. Introverts need time alone. Even when said introvert’s husband wants nothing more than to hover and count breaths and count calories and check his blood pressure and massage his feet and rub those babies. Just rub those babies all the time because they never stop moving! They never stop moving. They are most certainly Stiles’ kids. Which, is maybe the whole of the problem for Derek. Always getting kicked and punched in the bladder and kidneys and intestines and stomach. And then on top of that dealing with Stiles. Well, maybe Derek should be nominated for sainthood. 

———————

Taking his time at the grocery store wasn’t exactly a good idea. Because when he gets home, there is just another thing, a big thing that normals couldn’t handle. Nope, couldn’t handle it at all. There is another thing. A big thing. A big black wolf. There is a big black wolf lying in the yard with big blue eyes with silver veins in them. A big black wolf that is so fucking beautiful it hurts Stiles physically to look for too long, or really any time at all right now, it just hurts in his chest in all the ways it should hurt. Right now. Because that big black wolf lying on his side in the grass panting? That wolf. That gorgeous big wolf, he is lying on his side in the grass with three (three!), count them, three!, three pups, three of them. There are three of them. Unless Stiles is seeing things, which is possible since his eyes are instantly stinging with tears and he’s blinking like mad to try to keep them down, but he’s pretty damn sure it’s three, “three?”

Three. Holy shit. Holy all of the things, “three?”

Three. Pups. Three of them all latched right onto their mama’s teats. Yep, teats. That’s something he’s not going to say out loud. That’s just, it’s just too much animal and Derek is not an animal. Derek is amazing. Derek is incredible. Derek is still a female, but at least he’s a wolf again. So there must be some kind of wearing off of the potion happening since he can shift and that probably saved a whole hell of a lot of trouble in the whole labor thing, but maybe it didn’t, and he’s probably just so fucking exhausted and sore and tired and he had to do this all alone and Stiles can’t see past the tears that are racing down his cheeks but he does feel his butt hit the grass and Derek’s head land on his thigh, his fingers slide through his fur and he’s so soft and he’s so warm and he’s so perfect and he’s so Derek, and, “thank you,” what the hell else is he supposed to say right now? Right now when he’s got three pups and one husband and they’re all healthy as far as he can tell by looking at them and they’re all so soft and whimpery and squirmy. Every time Derek licks one of them they squeak and it’s so sweet and perfect, “they’re perfect.”

Stiles’ hands rise to wipe some tears off, and he announces, “I’ll get you some water,” but Derek’s head lands hard in his lap and a whine escapes him at the thought of Stiles getting up right now, “okay, no, I’ll stay here. I’ll stay right here,” leaning down on his side, behind Derek and watching over his ribs, his ribs that are moving up and down and up and down and a little harder than they should be but he did just give birth, so there’s that, and Stiles is absolutely certain that Derek will not allow himself to be checked over physically at this point, but there’s not like all the gross stuff all over the lawn or anything, there’s nothing leaking any more than anything should be leaking, so that’s good. It’s good. Stiles watches his hand extent, slide over Derek’s coat gently, barely any pressure and watches his husband cleaning the head of one of the pups. Oh they’re so ugly, they are so ugly and so cute and so perfect and so godawful ugly. 

So he’s going to have to stay here until Derek lets him up, and he’s going to keep his eyes alert and focused and tune in all the human senses he has to make sure this litter is safe and healthy and perfect, and then when he gets up he’s going to call Deaton. Or maybe he should text him now and see what the hell he’s supposed to do now. When will they shift? When will they need more than to just lie here? When should he bring them inside? What if Derek shifts to man? Then who’s going to feed them? Derek scrunched up his nose like the very thought of formula made him want to vomit when Stiles suggested having some in the house might be a good idea just in case. So he knows the man is very opposed to formula, but there might just be some in the bag in the back of the Jeep right now, that bag that also has some perishables that are going to perish really soon if he doesn’t get up.

“I’m going to,” he starts, and a low whine cuts him off, Derek’s head nudging so hard against his stomach that it nearly knocks the wind out of him, “lay here,” he finishes. Being alone? Not good. Not good for Derek Hale when he just had pups. All alone. He was all alone. And probably terrified. 

Stiles buries his face in the scruff around his neck, not really knowing where it’s okay to touch him, but knowing he needs to be touched, “I love you,” mumbled against hot black fur, “so much. And I’m so proud of you.”

——————

Who needs cell phones and modern means of communication when they have a pack? No one. That’s who.

Cora was the first to show up. A begrudging Peter behind her, who stayed long enough to mutter some congratulations, offer some advice that might be helpful but who can ever really tell with him what’s real and what’s for his own gain? At least he carried all the groceries in. And did not make any comments about the formula. Or maybe he tossed it out. Who knows with wolves?

When Cora sits down cross-legged, close enough to Derek for him to sniff her if he wants, but far enough away that she’s not invading his personal space. She’s quiet for a long time, cracks a water bottle and holds it out until Stiles takes it. Knowing Derek will probably only accept the offering from his mate right now, though a sibling is the next closest thing if the mate was not here. 

Stiles cups his hand, pours a little water in it and lets Derek lick it off. He runs his nose along Stiles’ wrist and nudges at him until he does it again. Groans and lays his head back on Stiles’ thigh when he’s done. As soon as the sun gets overtaken by shade on his black coat, he drifts off into sleep. The pups still squirming and squeaking, fighting for space on the old food source, and one by one drifting off into sleep as well.

This little waterfall of tears that just keeps falling on Stiles’ cheeks has got to stop eventually. He nearly forgets Cora is even there until she tells him, “if they’re born pups they’ll shift to human usually in the first week,” he can tell she’s having trouble not reaching out, touching them, probably licking them or something wolfish. She adds in kind of a quiet voice, “there’s an herb that’ll make female wolves lactate. You know,” shrugging, unable to make eye contact, “if when he shifts he’s male again. I could, um,” her eyes are on the pups, “I will take it. When you need it.”

“Thank you,” his voice shakes, and damn the awe. The awe for just how nonchalant all of this is for the wolves. Like, Derek’s a girl? Okay cool, we’ll deal. And Derek’s pregnant? Okay, cool, we’ll all have pups together then. And now Derek’s pups might need some supplemental nutrition? Here for it. Stiles kind of, aside from the whole abuse of the nipples thing, wishes there was an herb for human males to make them lactate. Too weird? Maybe. Or maybe it’s just the way a man feels when he has babies. Like he wants to do everything he can to provide, “oh shit, I should call my dad.”

“Already done,” there’s a Hale smirk on her lips.

“Wait, how did you even know?”

She shrugs, ruffles the fur on top of Derek’s head without interrupting his sleep, “instinct,” then she’s to her feet and walking purposefully across the yard, probably hearing the rest of the pack arriving before mere human ears can. 

Stiles sighs, adjusting his body into a more comfortable position, or attempting something comfortable anyway when there’s a wolf’s head on his thigh, heavy with sleep. Well, now Stiles is sitting in the yard with his wolfman fast asleep in his lap and their pups, three of them!, nestled and nuzzling and squirmy and sleepy and perfect. Is this something normals adjust to in their adjustment period? No! So ha! Screw Lydia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably the most ridiculous thing I've ever written, but I'm having fun with it. I hope I'm not the only one :)
> 
> Stay healthy friends.


	5. Oh Shit, We Have A Litter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I married a werewolf... oh shit, we have a litter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Postpartum depression, mentions of Hale fire and Nogitsune.

Oh Shit, We Have A Litter

Day five when the pups and Derek shifted. And now there are three babies. Three not so squirmy and cute babies. Not that they’re not cute or anything, they’re just so much louder. And they look so much like Stiles. The whole babies look more like their dads when they’re newborns so their dads don’t reject them, and that is some fucked up genetic or evolutionary shit there because we all started out our lives unknowingly being afraid that our fathers will reject us. 

Two girls. One boy. And all three of them look like Stiles. And it’s weird. It’s weird because he’s never been one to love his own face, but he loves these little bitty squishy versions of his face. Even though they cry. And cry. And whoever said newborns sound like baby cats and are so quiet you’ll be afraid you won’t hear them from one room over if they’re sleeping in the crib or the swing or just flat on the floor because she won’t allow herself to be a burrito baby! that person was wrong. Wrong as wrong could be. Because Stiles even with his puny, weak, measly human hearing can hear them from across the house! Her, especially, Curly. Larry, Curly, and Moe. Not really, not officially but since Derek couldn’t use words, human words, until this morning that’s just what Stiles has been calling them since everything else he’s suggested has been met with growls, sighs, or groans. And now that Derek is a man again, and he feels weird and probably like a failure for not being able to nurse his babies now, he’s just hiding in the bedroom. So they haven’t officially named the babies.

And Stiles hates it. He hates it. Because Stiles fixes things. He fixes things! Even if sometimes he fumbles a bit first, and occasionally fails hard enough to get possessed by a demon fox spirit, or piss off a witch enough to turn his husband into a girl, and stuff like that. He still eventually always fixes things. But he can’t fix Derek. He can’t fix him right now. And it hurts so much. Every time he walks in the bedroom, Derek just turns his back to him and won’t say anything and it hurts. So postpartum depression? Check. And maybe more than that. Maybe having a family of his own now without his mom to guide him and his dad to make bad dad jokes and his older sister to come over and clean and do all the weird things a sister does when her sibling has a baby. Though he has Cora, Cora who is taking the herbs and nursing the babies. And Erica who stepped up to the plate and joined in on that little party. And Stiles is so thankful for those damn bitchy wolves, there’s even two wolves from another pack that have offered their assistance. It’s insane! And this is just the start. 

It doesn’t feel like a good start though when he sits on the edge of the bed, the one that Derek is occupying and wonders lamely, “you feelin’ okay big guy?”

Nothing. Nothing at all. And Stiles is good with the nothing sometimes, he can be the noise to Derek’s silence pretty much all the time, but right now? Not so much. Especially when he reaches out to touch his arm and he recoils from it. Recoils. A wave of anger rolls up from his belly, wanting to reach out and shake him and shake him until he’s forced to get up and get out and touch and hold and snuggle those babies who spent the first five days being blind little pups who were crawling all over him, gnawing on every part of him, and he looked like he was smiling all the damn time. 

Instead of shaking him, or punching him, or whatever his body is telling him to do by the indication of his hands flailing out at his sides towards his husband; he takes a deep breath. A very deep breath. And he very calmly, very very calmly settles on the bed next to him. Not close enough to touch. On his belly, chin propped on his hands. 

“You remember when I got possessed by the Nogitsune?”

Right, like he could forget that. 

“Do you remember why I fell in love with you?”

Okay, really, where is this going?

“K, don’t talk. Don’t nod. Don’t give me unimpressed brows. Just lie there. Good,” he drums his fingers on his lower lip, takes a deep breath, watches Derek’s body move with his slow breathing, “I, um, it wasn’t me, and I know that now because of you. All that guilt and everything just eating me alive, and the darkness that followed me around afterwards and really, beforehand after the whole sacrifice thing, freezing to death-ish. You know. You know all this because we talked about it. I talked. You listened. And you told me a few things. Important things. Like how it didn’t make me weak. Not knowing, not having full control over my own body, people ending up hurt because of it,” his drumming finger manages to find it’s way between his teeth for a a quick bite since that hangnail has got to go, “it didn’t make me weak. And that feeling like I was stuck in sludge all the time, like my brain was too slow and my focus would never come back and those little jolts of adrenaline that came with the anxiety and panic and left me shaky and out of it; you just kept reminding me that it didn’t make me weak. Or somehow less. You, um, always answered your phone when I called. No matter the time of day or night when I wasn’t sleeping. And all that shit was just racing around in my mind. And when I finally crashed, it was at the loft. And you just let me. It was the first time since my mom died that I felt like I could be weak and vulnerable in front of someone, even if you insisted I wasn’t weak, but I could be. You let me be. So, um, you know what? Fuck it,” he mumbles, tossing himself across the empty space between them and plastering himself to Derek’s back even if he doesn’t want it. Even if physical touch makes his skin crawl. Even if all he wants to do right now is dig a den and hide in it until he can pull himself back together. 

He doesn’t have to though. He doesn’t have to pull himself back together. He has Stiles for that. There’s a catch in his breath when Stiles’ lips meet the back of his neck, his whole body is rigid and Stiles knows he trying his damndest to just stay there even when his instincts are telling him to take off. But all that heavy, dark, silent pain? That’s not going to go away unless he lets someone share it with him. And yeah, all the shit that’s happened in his life, all building to this happy little time they’ve had lately, the last few months that have been like a tiny little calm spot in an ocean of uncertainty, their little raft floating nice and peaceful on a sunny day only to crash into a witch infested island with sex-swap potions, an unplanned pregnancy, and the daunting prospect of raising three babies when they’re still young and not exactly stable. Mostly stable but babies are really expensive. And now there’s no way in Hell they’d be able to afford childcare so they have to have one stay-at-home parent and since Stiles only has two semesters left for his degree, it just, well, maybe he’ll have to put that on pause. They didn’t exactly comb over their financials just yet, they briefly discussed it with Derek saying they were just fine and then got interrupted by the rolling movement that Stiles had to chase across his belly and lean down to talk to through his skin and part of him is jealous of humans that get to experience that for like an entire trimester and a half when he only got it for about a month, but by then Derek was so crabby that he’s glad it only lasted a month and holy Hell, in all the things he didn’t even think to consider that his husband is back in his normal body and that means all the sex. Not that they’ll have time for the sex. All the sex. And he’s probably still physically messed up and emotionally he’s clearly messed up and they’ll have to wait awhile, but it’s there! His body! It’s there, it’s back and it’s so fucking beautiful and Stiles wants to lick him.

He wants to lick him. 

“Don’t you dare,” oh, he speaks. 

Stiles nudges his nose against the back of his head, thinking it’s time for a haircut because Derek, tall dark and handsome Derek, big hunk of man Derek, smoldering cheekbones and rock hard abs Derek, big man hands and tight man ass Derek; he looks weird with a girly haircut. 

“Shut up.”

Oh, he speaks, “I’m licking you now.”

“Stiles,” it’s a low growl.

“There’s my sourwolf,” and he leaves a nice long strip of saliva right up the middle of his neck. Shoves on his shoulder until he rolls to his back, begrudgingly but not that begrudgingly since if he wanted to he could make it so that Stiles could not budge him an inch. His eyes are sad, they’re circled with dark blotches of lack of sleep, and he’s just so worn out, but so gorgeous, “I’m here. You know. For all of it,” leaning forward until his lips are resting on Derek’s forehead.

“I know,” it shakes a little. Stiles feels his eyelids flutter shut, like tiny butterfly wings disturbing the air. 

“That’s what we do. You and me. Because we want to.”

Stiles can hear Derek’s swallow, like he’s trying to swallow some kind of sorrowful howl, but there’s nothing to be sorrowful about. He just needs to come to terms with his new old body and the things he thought he’d be able to provide physically for his babies that now he can’t, but it’s okay. There’s nothing wrong with that. He’s incredible, what he did was incredible, and it will always be, even if he can’t nurse them now. The pack has that covered. And sleep. He needs some sleep. Recovery time. All that. Even if wolf healing has come into effect, that fancy wolf healing can heal his body but it can’t heal his mind. Stiles knows this about Derek. Still waters run deep and all that. Not that he’s really still waters, not all the time, just when he’s all broody and sour. All that facade that Stiles cracked through and found that broken teenager underneath who lost so much, built himself a castle out of stone to keep between himself and the outside world. Never let anyone in? Then no one could hurt him. Too bad he let Stiles in. Too bad for the big bad wolf, Stiles picked away at the stone wall until he could squirm his way inside and stay there. Forever. 

He only lifts his head to check out Derek’s left hand. Well, it might have been a burn scar on his little human girl finger, but it’s now a wolf tattoo right there on his ring finger. Where his ring is supposed to be. Now he has two. A metal one and a permanent one. Maybe Stiles should get his tattooed on too. Um, maybe when he isn’t afraid of needles anymore. Maybe then. 

Maybe then. When his eyes wander back to Derek’s face, his eyes closed, mouth starting to go slack with sleep. Well, wasn’t that easy? Easy for now. He won’t just take a nap and magically be emotionally healed and ready to take on the task of raising three babies. But getting a good sleep is a good start. 

——————

So nothing is working. Every time Stiles brings a baby or two or three into the bedroom, Derek just turns into a brick wall under the sheets. Not speaking, not moving. He’s starting to smell sour and sometimes hours will go by without Stiles even laying eyes on the big man mass in the bed, and that’s probably just making it worse that Stiles can’t focus his full attention on him. He’s got three babies to juggle. Two wolves nursing them. And all the visitors that are meeting the triplets. Triplets. Wow.

It’s Melissa, of course it is, that comes in one afternoon, kicks every single human and wolf out of the house except for the pups and Derek. She tells them it’s a nice day, it’s a big yard, maybe a game of frisbee would be a good way to knock some dust off. Well, she didn’t exactly take into consideration that a game of frisbee with a few wolves who have been mostly cooped up for about a week now, is going to get violent. Stiles is certain he won’t make it out of this game alive. But in the meantime, Melissa fixes Derek. Stiles doesn’t know how. Okay, so that’s a lie. He keeps sneaking back into the house every ten to fifteen minutes to hover over the process while hiding behind a door or an article of clothing or a piece of furniture or just a corner. Yep, a corner would have been the easiest route. 

Outside the bathroom door he can hear mumbled voices. The faucet running. Then when he makes his way back in a few minutes later, it’s the light splashing around of someone in the tub. And Melissa’s voice, calm and easy. She’s not talking about baby stuff or the weather or anything in particular. Just talking. Her voice is soothing and Stiles finds himself sliding down the wall, sitting on the floor in the hallway, taking the opportunity to listen to a mom. A mom. Something neither of them has had a long time. 

Judging by the sounds, she’s filling a cup and pouring it over his head to rinse shampoo out. He supposes if anyone is going to bathe Derek, anyone other than Stiles, then Melissa mom/nurse/caregiver/awesome human being is the best choice. He’s maybe still a little jealous. Because Derek would probably never let Stiles dote on him like that. But he gets it. Derek needs some things that Stiles can’t really provide right now, and he needs it from someone who won’t push him, won’t judge him, won’t force anything on him.

——————

Barely. Made. It. Out. Of. There. Alive.

And by there, he means the frisbee game. Holy pent up werewolf aggression. 

By the time he drags his poor beaten, bloodied, half-dead body back into the house and collapses on the floor in front of the couch Melissa is in the kitchen making a meal. And the body laying on the floor? Stretched out on the floor. On his belly with his chin propped in one hand, and the other hand laying on the tiny belly of a burrito baby. That body? That body is the Hulkwolf himself. Yep, that guy. All out of bed and interacting with the babies. Two burritos and one flailing, grunting, lips pursed and trying to latch onto any and everything warm. The first warm thing she finds is Stiles’ knuckle, little gummers gumming away at his finger, “not going to find any sweet banana nectar in there Curly.”

“Sweet banana?” Fido speaks. Speak Fido. Oh, Fido has dipped brows and it’s the first time he’s seen those brows in that position since Derek was last a man, so that’s been, well, a really long fucking time and it’s going to take way too much brain power right now in his broken, bruised, beaten, bloodied body to figure it out. 

“I tasted it. It tastes like overly ripe bananas,” he shrugs, “I had to taste it. Inquiring minds, and you know, if your baby is eating it, then you should at least know what it tastes like. It’s not like the peasant or prisoner who has to sample the king’s meals to make sure they are unpoisoned, but really, it’s just polite, maybe? Polite. If you force your child to eat it, then you should know,” suddenly the little gumming mouth stops and is lifted away from him, right off the floor and into the arms of a she-wolf. He jerks his thumb towards the recliner that has become the nursing station, “tits out over there. And no, I didn’t sample it from the source either, so don’t even. There’s this thing called a breast pump, and they can pump it, and when the pups are four weeks old and all the latching is fully established and the nipples are,” he shudders, feels his face screw up and trails off, only to start back up, “we can bottle feed. It’s the bonding thing and getting the milk to come in and all that, and then Erica and Cora can be more freed from the titty tether. They can just, ya know, pump and, um,” his fingers are tapping along with his incessant chattering and he needs someone to hurry up and cut him off because he’s not a doctor or a midwife or a doula or whatever else there could possibly be. A lactation consultant, but he read, okay? He read it all. He read all of it. But since these are wolves, maybe it’s different for them. Maybe since it’s herbs instead of just having the baby and the scent and all that jazz, it’ll, “but we do have the guest bedroom and, um, bonding is cool,” it just kind of trails off and he realizes that there’s all kinds of bustling around like probably no one was paying attention to a word he said. Except Derek. 

Derek who is watching his lips. His expression is unreadable, or maybe intentionally blank, but he’s listening. Stiles can tell by the tilt of his head. He’s listening to Stiles talk even if he’s not really paying attention to the words, at least he’s letting his mate’s voice patterns mix and mingle in along with everything else that’s wandering around in there. He wonders sometimes what it’s like in other people’s heads. If the paths are a little more straight, less forked, flatter without all the boulders to jump around and climb over and the potholes to trip over and generally flail around. Well, flat, paved, smooth roads are boring. So.

“Derek?”

“Hmm,” his hand is still on the baby’s belly, the only baby left on the blanket spread out on the floor. The entire rest of the world has disappeared and all that’s in it is this blanket on the floor, beautiful hazel eyes, and a fresh haircut.

“Haircut?”

“Mm hmm.”

So Melissa fixed him with a haircut? Well, Stiles could have done that! And now she’s cooking dinner and Stiles could have done that too! But he was busy being kicked out of his own house to be viscously tossed around the yard by a bunch of wolves! So busy.

“I like it,” he’ll leave out the part where he wants to rub his cheek along it, just right across the top of his head. And then rub all over his stubble. Because it’s back. That perfectly styled and shadowed grizzly hair that burns Stiles’ collarbone sometimes when Derek is…

“Stiles,” it’s a little growly warning. Like he’s going to remind him that his beard is not styled, it’s just magically werewolf naturally perfect.

“What?”

His head tilts towards the rest of the room, where suddenly all the noises have stopped and everyone seems to be tuned into Stiles’ narrative. That narrative that was supposed to be in his head.

“Maybe I should grow a beard.”

——————

“Thalia was the Greek goddess of festivity,” Stiles lifts his hand, the one that has a tiny baby finger wrapped around it. Baby who refuses to be a burrito resting on her back on his thighs. 

“Mm hmm,” so he’s not exactly in his full conversational capacity, but he’s moving. Like pacing around the room with baby boy Stilinski? Hale? in his arms. He’s mostly smiling at him. And Moe is, well, she is, she’s somewhere. Stiles cranes his head to get a glimpse of the baby swing where she is sleeping. He stomps his foot on the floor and sure enough, baby ninja hands. It never ceases to entertain. Even if Derek scoffs about it. 

“Claudia means lame, but that’s just, not, she was anything but lame.”

He doesn’t respond, instead his body weight lands beside Stiles on the couch. The burrito boy against his chest. He’s close, close enough that when Stiles moves his arm it brushes against Derek’s. Derek’s big beefy man arm. Oh Hale, that feels good.

His head turns, leaned back against the couch, eyes landing on the side of Derek’s face where his jaw is clenching and unclenching. Working at some kind of words that he wants to say but doesn’t want to say or can’t figure out how. So Stiles does what STILES does, he starts talking, “not that I want to name our kids after our dead moms but I just think, you know, we should probably name them at some point. And well, we can name them whatever you want since you shot down all my suggestions with growls and groans and stuff, but Melissa brought over all the paperwork for social security numbers and birth certificates and all that, and I mean, it’s a few days late but she inked their little feet and made their prints for us, like they do in hospitals when a human baby is born,” his hands are a lot less fidgety when he has a baby to keep on his lap, “I haven’t dropped any of them yet if you’re wondering.”

“Yet?”

“Yeah. Babies are squishy for a reason. They bounce. Not that I’m going to drop them, but it’s just like a parental rite of passage, or, well it’s not like I can grab them by the scruff and toss them around like you can,” narrowing his eyes at Derek, knowing he can’t deny it, he watched it happen. He watched Derek grab one of the pups by it’s scruff, “that’s just, ya know, something. That happens. To some people.”

The eyebrows are reading skeptical like he wants Stiles to admit it, confess it, and Derek would probably be a good cop. Well the bad cop actually. Glaring and waiting for a confession. Then pointedly staring while his wolf teeth sharpen and start to show through his mostly closed mouth just open far enough to show how easily he could rip a human throat out. 

“I mean, I kind of,” the hand holding tiny baby toe releases, rises to the back of his head and scratches, “I sort of, might have, almost. But I didn’t! The dropping didn’t happen! I just read it, um, you know parents, even good ones, make mistakes. It happens and babies are wiggly and slippery. What?! I didn’t! Just sayin’. Maybe. If it did. In the future. I wouldn’t be the only one! Derek you grab them by the scruff with your teeth and your eyebrows are judging me?!!”

The eyebrows are judging. The eyes are starting to call his bluff and sparkle. And the corners of the mouth, well those are all out trying to stifle a smile. A stupid wolfy smile that Stiles hates so much, really truly hates it, he hates it. Which is exactly why he has to kiss it. Kiss it hard. Because holy Hale it has been way too long since he’s kissed his husband. And keep kissing it, until he’s sure the eyebrows have no judgement left and the mouth has no reason to form any words, or at least none about the baby dropping conversation. He doesn’t pull away until he’s got that perfect amount of sting on his lips from that perfectly styled, yes styled no matter what Derek says, facial hair.

“It’s not styled,” it’s mumbled because of the whole lips on lips thing, “you’ve watched me get ready for the day before. It’s just…”

“You wake up perfect,” breathed against those lips, perfect, warm, soft with bristles around them, “must be tough,” pressing in again, “to be so godawful handsome,” another kiss, this time lasting longer again, parting lips and getting tongue. Tongue, oh the tongue. It only ends because either Derek has a tiny machine gun hidden somewhere or Larry’s blasters just went off, “it was a lot easier when they were pups. And they just shit in the yard.”

Derek snorts, there’s a hint of fear in his eyes and Stiles is pretty damn sure he’s never changed a human diaper before. Like Stiles would let him do it alone anyway, no way, “come on big guy, it’ll make you never want to put mustard on anything ever again.”

——————

“Derek,” it’s sing-songed, a baby under each arm, he knows Derek is in the bedroom again. He’s been getting up at night and running through the darkness in the Preserve at least. The time spent with the family is increasing by the day, but he still has his moments. It’s not a big deal, not really, Stiles has support. He has more support than he knows what to do with half the time. Feeling some need to entertain all the pack members that come over to feed or bounce or snuggle any given baby on any given day. Or all the given days. Okay, so three babies and only two parents, yeah they need help. A man only has so many hands! So he’s grateful. He is, it’s just so much. It’s all so much. Of course Derek has to hide from it all the time. All the months he spent without his super hearing and super scents and super strength and all that, now he’s got them back and he’s surrounded by people all day every day and babies all day every day and it’s just too much.

“Derek,” kicking the bedroom door open with his toes. And not at all knocking himself off balance. That is not what happens and it is not why he jars his shoulder against the frame. But, hey, no baby dropping. So it’s a win. 

“Derek, this baby answered to Moe, she did, she tilted her little head and looked at me like she was listening really hard with wolf senses when I said it. So I think it’s time, before they all just start answering to Larry, Curly, and Moe,” sagging onto the edge of the mattress. And hopefully Curly is somewhere either strapped down or in someone’s arms or something because three is too much. It is too much. And he’s wondering if he can put one up for adoption on the black market or something. Make some serious dough by selling a wolf baby, hell he could sell it to science and… no, no he couldn’t. Because they’re just so cute. Yes they are, they’re just so.

“Stiles,” it’s a growl. 

“Oh. I’m not selling our babies Derek. I just, I need…”

“Yeah,” cutting him off, he jerks his bulk to the edge of the bed, scrubbing over his face and sighing heavily. Stiles watches the muscles in his back working overtime to fight out that lactic acid that builds after, hmm, let’s see, going for an undetermined amount of miles run in the middle of the night then directly climbing into bed and not moving for hours. Leaving Stiles and the rest of the pack to care for babies that he is not selling. He’s not. He just, there’s going to come a day when not all the rest of the support system is available or so willing to set aside their lives and then it’s just going to be Stiles and three babies and like aforementioned a man only has so many hands! 

“You’ll be going back to school in the Fall,” Derek mumbles it, his face in his hands, elbows on knees.

“Um, no, about that, actually, I’ll just put off…”

“No,” snarl. Oh he’s so good with his words and his patience is aces. Yes, aces.

“Well you’re not…” this time it’s cut off by a little baby sneeze, “achoo,” Stiles squishes up his nose to make a face at the little culprit and much to his surprise there’s suddenly a baby wolf in his arm. Oh that’s, that’s um, “Derek, do sneezes make babies shift? ‘Cause we have a,” oh and now she’s biting at the blanket she was just wrapped in and she’s squirming her way out of his arms and trying to play tug of war with it, but she’s not exactly coordinated enough to do that so she falls over backwards and disappears over the edge of, oh there she is. Safe in Derek’s big mitt, “I didn’t drop her! She rolled!”

His hand is under her belly and he’s kind of holding her in the space by his face, how’d he get from the side of the bed he was sitting on to this side to save the day so quickly? Goddamn werewolves. Maybe Stiles should ask for the bite. There’s still that whole aging differently thing that he needs to figure out and he wants the time, all the time, every moment of it that he’s allowed to have and the best way to assure that is to take the bite. Beg for the bite. Be bitten.

“I’m not biting you.”

“That was in my head!”

His lips purse, gaze not shifting off the wolf pup, adjusting his hold on her and flashing his blue and silver eyes at her. She whimpers once, a whimper that makes Stiles’ chest clench but it’s a split second before she’s just a naked human baby being brought to her daddy’s chest. Snuggling in against his bare pec immediately. Her tiny hand fisted and tucking under her chin. Her little fat baby butt all dimpled and squished from the pressure of his hand holding her up. Derek will not be impressed if the rocket launchers go off now. 

And judging by the brows, that was out loud. Just all out loud. Or just the rocket launcher part. 

“All they do is eat, poop, and cry.”

“They’re babies,” he responds, rather unimpressed.

And now Stiles is going to snap, he is going to snap, it is too late, and, “you wouldn’t even know Derek, you’ve been sleeping and withdrawing and acting like,” and now it’s registering in his ears, fuck. He knows, he already knows. He knows because he’s been there. Sort of. After the Nogitsune, and it was Derek, Derek brood and muscles and dark corners and dramatic entrances, it was Derek who made Stiles feel okay, “shit,” his breath shakes, his eyes are slowly trying to find Derek’s but also not wanting to find Derek’s since he probably has a hurt look on his face even if he’s trying not to have a hurt look on his face. 

Before he can find them, there’s a baby being set on the bed and shoulders walking away, “damn it, Derek, I’m…”

A growl interrupts him. He seriously has to stop fucking doing that. But Stiles bites back the anger on the tip of his tongue. Deep breath, free hand landing on baby Moe, making sure she stays right there on the bed. She gurgles, her little eyes catch on something ceiling ward, some of her Stilesness is fading, and she’s starting to morph into something a little more Derek which is awesome and he hopes all three of them have Derek’s eyes. 

By the time his gaze shifts back over to Sadwolf, he’s standing by the window, arms crossed over his bare chest, looking out into the yard. He’s just a taut line, he’s a little gaunt. Not gaunt for a normal human being, but definitely for a Hulkwolf. 

Silence. Aside from the baby noises. The ones that make Stiles’ entire body just sort of melt on the inside. But they probably make Derek’s skin crawl. 

“Okay,” heavy sigh, hand sliding under Moe, she squawks when he lifts her, “I know,” whispering, “Daddy needs some time,” settling her into the crook of his elbow, “just more time is all.”

When he’s pulling himself off the edge of the mattress a sound from over by the window stops him dead in his tracks. He wants to give him space. He wants to, he knows Derek needs it. But that sound was unmistakable even to human ears. And Larry’s head turns, like he’s listening intently for another choked off, attempted stifled shaky breath. Derek’s face is turned, and it keeps turning with every move Stiles makes, being certain to keep his face completely hidden. HIs hand slides over it though, damn it. 

Damn it. Babies will have to lay on the floor. It’s fine. It’s clean. Babies are on the floor all the time. There’s nothing there for them to grasp and put in their mouths. And they’re fine. Especially if he lays them right next to each other, they’ll just chew on each other fists, ninja hands in each other’s faces, and one of them will be crying soon enough.

But right now, right now Stiles needs both hands, both arms, free. To wrap around his husband’s chest. So many tears just stuck in that big old chest. Stuck in there with all his words that he will never speak, and he doesn’t really need to, it’s not like Stiles is stupid, it’s not like he doesn’t understand all the past traumas that have no words to attach to them anyway. And he already knows, “I’m sorry,” it sputters a little.

“No,” pressing his lips against Derek’s shoulder, “don’t be. You have nothing to be sorry for. It’s just, it’s all so much. And you just did the most amazing thing ever Derek. And you did it without having any time at all to get used to the idea. And maybe you were just getting used to the idea when, boom, now you’re you again, and you’re amazing but you can’t do that things you thought you’d be able to do for your litter. It’s okay,” his hand is palm down on Derek’s chest, feeling his heart beating slowly, steady, “we’ll get through this. Together. The whole damn pack,” hooking his chin over his shoulder and turning to breathe against his jaw. 

Hand rising, sliding between Derek’s palm and his face. When the hand is pried off the face, the admission comes out in a quiet whoosh, “it wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

Okay, now that makes sense, of course it makes sense, but, “news flash buddy, nothing ever turns out the way it’s supposed to. Especially for us,” nudging knuckles into his jaw, hinting that now’s the time to turn. He does it, begrudgingly of course, because he’s Derek. And those eyes steal the breath right of Stiles’ lungs but not for long ‘cause he’s got a whole lot more to tell his husband, like, “so our moms were supposed to be here. And your dad and siblings. And your whole entire family pack. And I was probably supposed to be a woman, and a true mate with all the wolfy things like a pack to marry into and like a dowry or something. And I was supposed to be the one all denned up and producing pups while you were off howling around the Preserve with all kinds of baby news, all like ‘hey my pack is getting bigger by the day and I’ve got so much testosterone and I dare anyone to try to take me on now that I’ve got pups to protect’ or something. But guess what? That’s not how it turned out when you met some annoying sixteen year old that smelled like lemons and kept inserting himself into your business and totally saving your ass like every other day, and you fell madly in love with him because he’s so damn charming and the sex appeal is like off the charts and,” he’s just going to nudge against his nose with his since he knows it’s a wolf thing and Derek probably needs all the wolf things he can get right now, “you were doomed from day one, I knew you’d never resist my charm.”

His eyes flicker down to Stiles’ lips, he’s totally debating kissing him. But he’s still off, he’s still all stiff and unyielding. Stiles can feel a smile starting to rise on his lips, one that he’s really hoping is just the dumbest dopiest thing that Derek has ever seen. 

His chest moves under Stiles’ hand, a big old exhale, and his head just drops. Lands on Stiles’ shoulder, his nose pressing against pulse point and staying there. 

Well, that’s okay too. That’s just fine. If it is comfort he seeks, then comfort he shall find. That’s what mates are for. 

And forget Lydia. This is so not something normals could handle. Three babies. Three of them. Three. Wow. Stiles isn't even sure he can handle it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder what parenthood will throw these guys...
> 
> Quick reminder that your mental health is very important - be kind to yourself, take some time to relax, get some exercise, talk to people you trust.


	6. And The Whole Litter Is Out Of Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I married a werewolf, and the whole litter is out of control!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think there are any warnings to be had in this chapter. Just some baby stuff.

And The Whole Litter Is Out Of Control

“Milo meaning soldier, Tully meaning powerful, and Luna who is the moon. Of course. Those are my pups,” clearing his throat, “I mean, my totally human babies, all three of them, humans, yep. Not pups,” normally Stiles would keep all his media on a device, but when it comes to the pups, he’s got them old school style in an accordion wallet photo slide, or at least some of them, enough to show off. And it’s awesome. ‘Cause every time he’s in the grocery store, or the gas station, or the general store or whatever a big box store is called these days with all the shit you could ever possibly need all crammed into each and every aisle and of course the one thing you go into the store for is all the way in the back corner so you have to pass the accessories, and the clothes, and the shoes, and the big kids’ clothes and then finally you’re out of breath by the time you get to the diapers and it takes a lot of diapers to keep three little baby butts clean and un-rashed. Even with the stash of cloth diapers that they use when they’re feeling environmentally minded and they use those a lot, but well, yuck. They should have got the top-loader instead of the front-loader because they could just dump the bucket of pee diapers in the washer instead of having to take them out of the bucket and shove them into the washer, while being bent over the bucket of pee diapers. And it’s not like they sit in the bucket for long, the bucket is full just about every day, so they don’t stink like anything more than pee, but when it’s that much pee…

“Sir,” apparently the lady at the register is talking to him.

“Yeah?”

She tilts her head to the line behind him, where there are, oh about five to ten people staring holes into him since he came through the express lane with nothing but a box of diapers and wipes and it’s totally okay to come through with only two things, two, that’s all, and the candy bar he’s going to totally eat on the ride home and not share it with Derek and maybe he should brush his teeth with the toothbrush he keeps in the Jeep for just that occasion when he’s got candy bar breath and Derek would sniff that out, not like he doesn’t already sniff out the toothpaste and know anyway, but hey, they both have their things. Okay? They both do. Derek does too. He does. Just, it’s taking a long time to figure out what those things are! But he has them!

And anyway, he came through the line with two things (okay, three things but who’s counting, you’re allowed twelve anyway), but the problem is that he’s showing off his pups again. And must have been rambling about them too. Judging by the judging glares and all.

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” fumbling with his wallet accordion where there are also pictures of the pups in their fur coats, rolling around chewing on each other while Derek, as the gorgeous wolf that he is, looks on. Because hell yeah, Stiles is proud of his brood in every form. He just should probably put that one behind the others or… hehe, his broody brood. 

“You have puppies?!” oh now the lady is real interested when just a moment ago she was ready to light him ablaze with her evil stare. And apparently she didn’t hear him say pups earlier when he said pups.

“I sure do,” he feels his face twist into one of those smiles that could possibly be deemed borderline psychotic by anyone who doesn’t know him, and it’s the smile he wears when he talks about his pups and his mate. It’s his proud smile, overjoyed and ridiculously so perfectly happy and content and there are probably so many more words for happy but they’re all just rolled right into a slightly-crazy-person smile.

“Oh are they the most precious things I’ve ever seen in my life,” she coos at the photo, “what are their names? How old are they? How do you balance three babies with three puppies and what breed is their lovely mother?”

“Milo meaning soldier, Tully meaning powerful, and Luna who is the moon.”

Her eyes dart up to meet his, and she’s looking at him like he’s insane. 

Oh. Oh yeah. That. She was paying enough attention to that part earlier where he said his kids’ names. So, “uh,” scratching the back of his head, rocking on his heels, “how much?”

———————

“Oh, and their mother,” he tells himself as he gets in the Jeep, shoving the candy bar in his mouth, “is a broodyful man actually.”

And he doesn’t startle at all, not even a little bit, not even a tiny little jostling of limbs, when Scott taps on the window. 

———————

“This happen often?” Scott wonders, leaning back against the Jeep and scanning the yard. 

Where there are three wolf pups and one wolf dad, full-shift of course because his family is badass like that, well, just lying there in the shade, “yep.”

“Dude, do you realize how powerful your kids are if they can just do that?”

“Uh, take naps in the shade?”

“No,” he smiles that smile like Stiles just told a joke, but he totally didn’t tell a joke. So Stiles waits for it. Scott will get there eventually, “full shift wolves, man.”

“Oh, wait, do you know? More than I do about this? About born wolves and how they shift and when they shift and is this weird? Is it weird for them to be full-shift when they’re babies? I mean, I thought, sure, maybe it was… but they were born that way. As pups, you know, the four-legged kind, so I just thought, I just,” he trails off, eyes landing on the little bundles of fur and joy. 

“They’re, like, fully evolved Stiles. And they’re babies.”

“Well Derek is their dad, so, Hale family, um,” his hand comes up to scratch at the back of his head, “traditions?”

“Are you asking me?”

“Am I?”

“Yeah.”

“Yes, see. It’s just Hale family stuff,” patting Scott’s shoulder with a grin as he steps around him to hand out greeting scratches to his brood.

——————

So usually it’s cool. It’s all well and good when a pup sneezes and turns into a baby. Or that’s not it. When a baby sneezes and turns into a pup. It’s all well and good because Derek is right there to flash eyes at them or give a low growl and they’re going to have to talk about that because it’s not like it’s weird for wolves to growl, it’s just their communication but it seems um, maybe a little, just a tad, a tiny bit, borderline like inappropriate ways for humans to deal with their pups when they’re doing something they can’t really control yet. Or they can control if they can just turn back when Derek growls at them. Or can’t control when they just sneeze and shift on accident. Wow, Mom brain is real. It is real. And Stiles has it. 

So normally it’s cool. When a baby shifts on accident. But now that Derek’s not home, and Stiles is alone with the babies, and Luna is a wolf and the other two are babies he’s not exactly sure what he’s supposed to do about that. Growl at her? Tickle the other two’s noses until they sneeze and shift? So they can all go outside and tumble around in the yard. 

Has Stiles talked to Derek again about the whole bite me thing? Um, probably, just, “hey, knock it off,” she’s biting his pant leg. And he’s got Tully in his lap, in the right position for bottle feeding a breastfed baby and she’s still turning her face away from the nipple and scrunching up her nose like it’s the most horrible thing anyone has ever done to her, then she’s letting out a howl that sounds very wolfy for how human she is. And Milo is just over there swinging away. 

“Please knock it off,” when Luna clamps down on his pant leg, puts it in four-wheel drive and starts grunting as she’s pulling, “please, please for Daddy, please just change back to human baby. Or at least stop chewing on me,” Tully whines and he realizes he’s pulled the bottle out of her reach. Which, not like it matters, she’s still pretty offended by it’s existence. 

“Sorry, I’m sorry, here, just,” propping her up a little further in the crook of his arm, “just drink it please before it gets cold and we have to dump it. It’s not polite to waste nutrition when not everyone is lucky enough to have the nutrition,” he jiggles his foot very lightly, trying to dislodge the very aggressive puppy at his ankle. 

Where the hell is Derek? Why is he gone? What is he doing? And where is Stiles’ phone? And how does Derek do this when Stiles is at class? Derek needs to come home. 

This is bad. This is, oh there’s another country heard from over there in the swing and it sounds like a big old number two is what it sounds like. 

“Luna! Knock it off!” that is one seriously determined wolf. And there is no arguing that she is Stiles Stilinski’s kid, “Luna!” something weird happens then. Something really damn weird happens then. It’s like the word decides to spell itself out in some kind of sound wave that might as well become visible in the air between them and when it falls down around the pup who has suddenly stopped chewing and stopped growling and is looking up expectedly at the waves headed her way, blinking her big old gold beta eyes then suddenly turning into human eyes and human pup and she’s bare naked lying on her back. Her face all scrunched up, letting lose with a wail and a stream of pee. 

Well isn’t that just cute? Stiles would be slapping his forehead so hard right now if he could. If he had a free hand. If he had a free anything. Well, it's like he just made Luna’s name appear out of thin air and float around her little head to turn her human and make her cry and pee, so maybe he can make Derek’s name appear and go floating away to wherever the hell he is and he can come back and save them. Save them. Yes. Stiles and these pups are in over their heads and there is so much crying. So much, just, um, he might be crying too.

“Looks like someone found their dad voice.”

Stiles only doesn’t completely startle out of his skin and off the couch and flail all over the room because he would drop a baby and then trip over one if he did. So he very calmly, not at all spastically, says, “holy fucking creeperwolf, you damn Hales, you are all, just so,” it’s Cora walking in like she owns the place. Or like she’s going to attack it. It’s hard to tell with Hales, “is it just some kind of game to see which Hale can give the most humans heart attacks? Wait,” when she lifts Luna off the ground, cuddling her to her chest and looking like she’s about to lick her head, but she settles for just leaning against it for a good whiff instead, “dad voice? What does that mean? Is there something I need to know about? Did I trigger some kind of werewolf bond thingy that I should know about? Can I control their shifts? Is it even normal for them to be able to shift this easily when they’re this young? Was it like this when…”

“Stiles,” it’s one of the ground through the teeth and spit into the air versions of his name that every single person who knows him has some version of, but this one is coming from yet another intruder. Lydia. Another intruder! Stiles is a terrible parent! His babies are on hunger strike, peeing themselves on the floor, and, well, sound asleep with poop in his drawers like nothing has ever happened just off chasing squirrels in baby wolf dream land. He should probably never make that little joke out loud. In mixed company.

“This is about as mixed as it gets.”

“Dad! Dad!” oh that’s one that he knows and it’s almost as good as conjuring Derek.

“You’re not a bad parent,” big old Dad hand lands on his shoulder for a quick squeeze before Tully is being weaseled out of his arms. And thank all the things holy and un, now he can get up to pee. He was on the brink of looking like Luna. 

“Oh yeah, that one’s covered in pee.”

Cora’s nose twitches, “noticed.”

“What’s a dad voice?” he’s already halfway down the hall by the time he thinks it over again. And needs to know, he needs to know that answer, but he really has to empty his bladder first. 

And by the time he’s done with that task, the guest bedroom is reaching out to grab him by the ankles and drag him to bed for just a minute. Just a tiny little minute while there are three capable adults with three unmanageable pups. They’ll be fine. 

———————

He’s only vaguely aware of being lifted out of bed and carried down the hall. Vaguely aware of the movement, and the steps to the master bedroom, but acutely aware of the fact that it’s Derek, “mmm, Derek,” and his dick tries a really lame, really unimpressive attempt to show interest too, but then he’s being set down on the bed and the bed is just, it’s their bed and it’s so comfortable and then Derek is behind him, shoving bony knees against thighs and wrapping arms around chest, nose disappearing into that space between Stiles’ ear and his neck. And yep, dick’s going to have to wait, even if it doesn’t really want to, Hulkwolf is rumbling. Rumbling in the purring sense. Like a little boat motor. 

———————

The next time he wakes the sun is filtering through the moonroof and Derek’s body heat is all the way across the bed, but there are limbs all over between them, kicking and flailing around, jabbing him in the kidneys and kicking him in the butt. Wow, that must have been insanely annoying to feel internally for however many weeks Derek felt that. 

“Pups. Pups in bed.”

The grumble is an affirmative.

“Pups in bed while Stiles is sleeping.”

Another affirmative. 

“I know you’re all wolfy senses and wouldn’t roll over a pup, but I, in case you’ve forgotten, am still a human. Derek! A human!”

There’s no response, some kind of groan coming from a baby that sounds suspiciously like she thinks her dad is an idiot. When Stiles rolls over, it’s like everything bad that ever existed in this world just slips away. In a love pile in the middle of the bed are three perfect human babies. Shoving their fists in each other faces and mouths, kicking each other, and trying to chew on each other. They’re just not much different in either form. And over on the other side of the love pile is a gentle smile. Eyes sparked with silver, the green so bright in the morning sun flooding the room it’s like lying in the yard on a summer day and watching the canopy of leaves dancing overhead. 

Stiles’ hand doesn’t ask permission to move, but it reaches across the babies, lands on that welcoming stubble, thumb sliding over lips. Lips that instantly purse up and press a kiss to the pad of his thumb. 

“I said I want to live a life where we are one being,” watching the way the silver veins in his eyes throb whenever Stiles speaks, “I feel like we’ve mostly accomplished that.”

Derek doesn’t say anything. There’s no version of him in any version of the world, that would have to. His orbs flash from silver green to blue to nearly full silver and then he blinks. And they’re locked onto Stiles’ lips. Like he doesn’t care what’s coming out of his mouth, but he wants it to keep moving. 

———————

“So, what’s a dad voice?” he wonders when they’re in different stages of relaxation on the blanket in the grass beside the creek. The rushing of the water and the wind in the maple leaves the exact amount of soothing and stimulating that three wolf pups can get on board with even in their human form. 

Derek has a baby foot in his hand, and calm written all over his face. That thing flashes across his gaze, that thing where he’s having a memory that’s too important to forget but too painful to share, and then he shrugs. God forbid someone want Derek Hale to talk about his family.

With the summer breeze wafting through their yard and the safety of the safest place either of them has ever been, he finally admits, “Cora and I used to call it a dad voice when our dad would get angry at us, or frustrated, when we weren’t listening or rough housing too much. His tone would go deep and demanding in a way that our wolves had no choice but to listen. It was like the particular sound waves were just exactly right to find both the human and wolf, and demand their respect.”

“So it’s not a supernatural thing.”

“Nope. Dad was human as human could be,” his fingers grace over the tips of Milo’s toes and his eyes flit over to Stiles’ face, “why?”

Shrug, “just I guess,” oh that’s cool, he can fiddle with a baby hand when he doesn’t know what to do with his hands now, “Cora said I found my dad voice. I kind of hollered at Luna when she turned into a wolf and was chewing on my pant-leg. And she turned back into a human.”

The softness in Derek’s expression, it makes everything inside of Stiles turn to complete ridiculous amounts of mush, “I guess you found your dad voice then,” and there’s a hint of respect in there before he smiles fondly. 

And if there weren’t three babies between here and there, Stiles would, “hump the hell out of you Hale.”

“Romantic,” his eyes role, but the rest of his face retains the expression that he’s probably completely unaware is even there. Or maybe he is aware, and maybe he doesn’t mind that he wears his love for Stiles on his face for the whole world to see. Maybe he never minded at all.

Normals? Oh, the normals could so not handle this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't get very creative with the names - pretty much just asked my good friend google for some popular names from 2019 and then looked up some name meanings to find appropriate ones.


	7. Now I'm One Too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I married a werewolf, now I'm one too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Stiles takes the bite, we're back to having some sexual content - none of which is very explicit, and there is knotting (not graphic) in the last section. The bite also occurs in the last section. So skip that part if you don't want it. 
> 
> I feel as though there are very few scenarios in which Stiles would want the bite, but I think for his pups, he'd do it. I was going to get creative and try to come up with something else supernatural that Stiles could be, and I really just keep thinking he should be a bird :) Maybe a different story.
> 
> And I also can't remember if only alphas can turn a wolf, but we're just going to let that slide for this...

Now I’m One Too

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” Stiles might wiggle his eyebrows a little, which might give the wrong impression judging by the Hale glare he receives back for his efforts, “no, not that. Pervert,” spitting some chlorinated water through his lips like a spout towards where Derek’s face has switched that quickly over to a gentle smile when he looks down at the pups in front of him in the pool, “you’re trying it, aren’t you?”

He glances oh so innocently at Stiles, but Stiles doesn’t buy it for one second. Not even one mili-second. 

The pups are six months old. They barely survived the avalanche of gifts that was their first Christmas. They had to dig their way out of it for about a week. As much as Stiles loves having a full pack for the support, and the love, and all the things that he and Derek never had as kids, or well Derek had it but it got taken away from him by one vicious bitch who’s name shall never be repeated. Ever. As much as he loves the pack and their eternal presence, it’s the presents that they need to put a lid on. Because holy Hale, there is only so much that six month olds need. And they preferred the damn wrapping paper, and cardboard and all that anyway. Get ‘em a few chew toys and they’ll be fine. But no, it was like an entire row of Toys-R-Us gone wrong sitting in their house on Christmas day, more appearing every time another pack member wandered in. 

But Boyd, bless his giant werewolfy heart, got them a membership for the year to the pool. Well, there’s more than just a pool, it’s the entire gym complete with indoor track, outdoor track since this is California and all, climbing walls, and all the weights a person could ever see fit to lift. But well, since Derek is just the kind of guy that will work out on anything at any time, it’s not like he’s having issues staying in shape (and oh what a shape it is) while being at home with the pups. So most of the gym is just a bonus that they’ll probably never use, but a nice bonus anyway, they do have daycare added to their package so if Derek ever did decide there were humans that were capable of being trusted with his pups, then he could in fact, drop them at the gym’s daycare and run around on the track or embarrass a bunch of gym-heads by lifting twice what they do without breaking a sweat. And now that Stiles is thinking about that, it’s kind of a turn on. 

But he’s not thinking about that. Because wood in the pool, especially when taking the pups swimming, is highly prohibited. The last time he had wood in the pool was when he saved Derek’s ass from Jackson before they realized he was even Jackson. Heh, but that wood didn’t last long since the whole life and death thing happening and if he knew back then that Derek could smell erections, oh wow, so Derek has known for so long. So, so long. 

That’s not what he’s thinking about though. It’s not. Because, he knows that Derek knows exactly what he’s accusing him of thinking about. He’s just turning his head in that little coy wolfy way and pretending he’s not trying to shift his paws! His paws! 

“Derek,” he hisses it and accidentally draws the attention of the old lady that’s doing her old lady laps in the diving well instead of the cold pool. He doesn’t blame her. That pool is freaking cold. 

He smiles at her and tries to nod a, ‘keep going old lady, we’ve got family business to take care of here that doesn’t concern you’, but old ladies are just so, they just can’t resist, it’s just babies. There are three babies who love the water right here in front of her face, of course she’s not going to just keep moving on down the pool.

“Oh look at those precious little waterbugs,” oh god, and if the scent of her old lady perfume is this strong in Stiles’ human nose it’s going to be a cryfest here in short order. How can she still smell like an old lady over all the chlorine? How?!

Luna’s the first one to scrunch up, of course she is, powerful little shit that she is. If she sneezes, they will have a lot of explaining to do and a lot of getting kicked out of the pool to deal with. 

Derek, having picked up the awful combination of old lady perfume and chlorine and untrained babies, overly powerful untrained babies since Derek faintly told him that no, he didn’t have uncontrollable shifts when he was a baby. Peter confirmed it. These are some powerful wolfy babies. Deaton said it wasn’t unheard of, but it was plenty rare. And then he discerned them with his discerning eyes and finished their little six month check-ups. Because it’s not like they can take them to a real human doctor. 

So Derek does what any father would do. He blows in her face and dunks her. Yes, one handed. Since Tully is in his other hand. It’s wolf grace. There is no explanation for it. 

And she comes up just a grinnin’ and squealing away like it’s the coolest thing ever. Which just makes the old lady go all ‘oohs and aahs’ and then launch into how she learned how to swim and now Milo is making faces and his nose is twitching and Stiles is certain if he blows in his face and dunks him, the outcome will not be the same. So instead, he mumbles something about a diaper situation and takes off. And when he has to, when it’s imperative to have some grace and stealth, he can do it. He can! And he does! 

And he makes it! Just under the wire. Just when that little nose is scrunched and his little eyes are closed and he looks really pissed about being pulled out of the pool just when he was starting to get used to it, but he sneezes and…

Stiles holds his breath. Tightens his grip since this bundle of wet baby is going to be wet puppy in short order, but, “Milo,” he steadies it. Deepens it. Bends the word just right without having to raise his voice. Looks right at those little eyes that are when fully human, Derek’s fully human and ever-changing hazels, just starting to glitter with beta gold, “Milo,” he says it again, adding just a tiny bit more edge of command into it. Oh, yes, he’d be fist-pumping if he had a free hand, that beta gold just fades away. Baby remains fully human and it’s a win! Check that in the Stilinski column! 

“Daddy’s got moves,” he lets Milo know before they head back out to the pool deck. And sure as shit, that asshole has webbed feet and two babies laid out on their backs with the support of their infant life-vests to keep them afloat, his wrists through the nylon handles, just dragging them along with his smooth and gentle strokes through the water as they giggle and squeal and kick their little hearts out. 

“Bastard,” Stiles mutters under his breath as he slowly lowers himself and their son back into the warm water of the diving well. Whatever, Stiles will give him ‘the fun one’, ‘the cool parent’ if he wants it. Why? Well, because it makes Derek smile. And a smiling Derek is a beautiful Derek, and there is not a soul on this Earth that can argue that fact.

——————

Well, pups sleeping through the night, or mostly through the night, or sort of through most nights; it means more sexy time for Stiles. And Stiles loves the sexy time. 

Especially after the sexy time when Derek is still lying between his legs, propped on his elbows, that softness in his face and in his eyes, just watching Stiles’ every move while he talks. Talks about what? It doesn’t matter. It never matters to Derek. He mostly listens, Stiles knows he doesn’t listen to every word, because, well, not every word is important. Derek listens to the tone and inflection and he watches the expressions and he bathes himself in them. He listens to the heartbeat behind it and takes in the ever-changing scents, all of which Derek loves. His face mimics the faces Stiles makes as he speaks. So even if he’s not fully listening to the words, his wolf is hearing every single detail. 

Occasionally dropping his face to run his nose along Stiles’ collarbone or nudge against his jaw in a gently demanding manner to tell him without words to just give him his neck. So he does. And it doesn’t interrupt the flow of words. It just gives Derek the intimacy he’s craving. Like the rest of this isn’t intimate enough? What a diva. 

Maybe Stiles should grow his facial hair and give Derek beard burn on his forehead. 

The grumble that emits from his throat means that Stiles did, in fact, just say that out loud.

“I could grow a beard Derek.”

“Mmph,” yeah, so now it’s turned into running his teeth, closed and human, along Stiles’ collarbone. He has no idea what that’s even about. But it makes the goosebumps grow goosebumps and his dick get shockingly hard shockingly fast. Which, Derek detects, because of course Derek detects that. A plain old human could detect that. Right underneath him, crammed right up between their bellies and announcing itself proudly. Like a little white flag waving, ‘I surrender the booty’, okay so not really that little. And not really white. But close enough. 

Suddenly Derek’s face is there, just right there in front of Stiles’ and he’s all serious and very insistent when he says, “insecurity stinks,” and he means it literally.

Stiles’ hand comes up to slap himself in the forehead, “I wasn’t even getting insecure, can I have a single private thought please? In my whole entire life with you, just one, a single solitary private thought?”

He shrugs, completely ignoring the rise in Stiles’ voice and probably pulse, and all that internal stuff that he can hear. Instead, leaning down and kissing against his jaw, his neck, his collarbone. Hands starting to move, trailing over all the places that his lips can’t reach from this position, while he mutters things like, “perfect, beautiful, gorgeous, soft,” stuffing his nose in Stiles’ armpit, and there’s no way in hell that smells good, “you,” trailing over to his nipple, sternum, down to the soft planes of his belly, “incredible,” tongue darting out to trace the lines his lips are leaving, “mate,” breath warm and delicate across his skin, “home,” when he’s over by a blade of pelvis, and blatantly ignoring the achingly hard dick right in front of his face, just to grasp hips and flip him over like a rag doll in the center of their bed. 

He’d be opposed to manhandling if it was anyone else who was doing it. It would be too much loss of control for a delicate little human who has lost too much control in the past. But this, Derek’s big warm hands, and his tongue sliding down his spine, his words muffled against flesh, and the heat of his chest when he leans against Stiles to nip at his ear, “perfect,” again, apparently he’s run out of adjectives. But it’s okay. Or maybe he’s going to get fancy now. Start comparing him to all the things that Derek loves like, “moonlit,” when his face is between his shoulder blades, “marked for beauty,” against a mole, “powerful,” when his hands slide through his hair, he’s talking about his mind. Stiles isn’t sex stupid enough to not realize that part, “delicate,” nuzzling against the small of his back, trailing south, down the crack, “mine,” it’s kind of a territorial growl that sets Stiles’ entire body on fire when Derek’s hands grip his hips to tilt him up to his knees, fingers encircling his cock next, “flawless.”

Now his head is starting to spin, swimming in the words that Derek keeps mumbling, floating on the heat of his touch. And crashing to the feel of his mouth. His tongue and lips, his fingers making quick work of the prep that’s not even necessary at this point. Round two and all, but Derek is nothing if not thorough in his lovemaking processes. A point that Stiles very very much appreciates. Except half the time he’s on the cusp of coming before Derek even connects them. 

He mumbles something against the pillow, yep, the one that is already being drooled on. And Derek responds by draping himself over Stiles’ back, like a Hulkwolf blanket. He’s so warm. He’s always so damn warm. 

His fingers find Stiles’ where they’re gripping the sheets, press between and link together. The gentle clink of their wedding bands like a tiny wind chime. 

This time when they finish, Derek just mostly flops them to their sides, entangled and still connected and panting, sweaty, sticky, and just one giant sex mess. And it’s awesome. It’s so awesome. It’s so fucking awesome and, “shit,” Derek’s hand untangles itself first, reaching over for the monitor that is absolutely unnecessary since Derek can hear his pups before they even let out a cry with the whole heart rate change and stuff, “I thought she was chasing a rabbit.”

“Huh?” sex-fog has taken over. This should be his quip. This should be Stiles’ joke. This should be…

“She’s running from a bear.”

“What?”

“Having a nightmare.”

“Huh?”

“Tully is having a nightmare,” as he’s talking, he’s very gently removing himself from the web of love and sex they’ve created.

“You can dream-spy on our babies?”

“Not always,” now he’s hurrying. 

It’s a little disconcerting, “it’s a nightmare.”

“Yeah,” stepping into pajama pants on his way out, “the bear can be the hunter.”

“What? Derek?!” his hand rises to scrub at his face. So much sex fog. But is he saying that the dream bear can become the real life hunter? Do baby wolves have dream prophecies? Is that at thing? 

He should probably clean up. Before Derek and a pup appear in the doorway with matching crazy eyes. And racing heartbeats. 

Too late. They’re already there. And she is fully shifted and nuzzling into Derek’s neck. Whimpering. Oh little baby whimpering, it’s too much to handle. 

Stiles steps into a pair of boxers, quickly wipes off with a discarded t-shirt, making his way to the doorway where they’ve stalled out, “hey little warrior. Did you have a nightmare?” sliding his hand down her back, she’s so soft, “you’re okay now.”

When he blinks, something appears in the space of his black lids. Something he’s never seen before. Something that’s familiar nonetheless. It’s Derek, it’s Derek asking him how he knows it’s just a dream. 

“Count your fingers,” he hears himself say. Now. In the present.

Derek’s brows don’t do anything, there’s no surprise there, he already knows. He knows Stiles would see it eventually. Would see the moment he became Derek’s anchor. 

When he takes a deep breath, it trembles. HIs forehead leans against Derek’s, hand on Tully’s back. Sliding through her fur with five fingers. The other landing on Derek’s arm. Five fingers. 

“We’re okay,” Derek tells the room in general. Or maybe the whole house. Whoever he’s telling, it helps. Because Derek? Derek always sounds certain, even when he’s not.

Oh and he’s so not. So not certain. By the next day there’s a fully shifted black wolf patrolling the perimeter of the yard. And the entire pack is around. Around, under foot, racing around in the woods, sniffing out possible predators. 

And they won’t let Stiles do a thing! Not a thing! 

“You have babies,” Lydia tells him very matter-of-factly, stopping by the window to look out at the sentry in the form of Isaac, before she returns to her seat by Milo. 

“Yeah, so does Derek.”

“And Derek also has four paws and sharp teeth,” narrowing her gaze at him.

Stiles sighs, head falling back against the couch, letting the soft weight of Luna in his arms draw every ounce of calm he possesses to the surface. Being pinned by a baby, it seems to calm all the constant turmoil in his head, “do you think if I took the bite…”

Lydia interrupts him with a scoff. Loud enough that he raises his head to look at her, “you? Why in the world would you want to take the bite?”

His expression very pointedly points out every baby in the room. All three of them. Yep, three babies. Three babies that are more than worth extending his chances of a healthy old age for. The silent exchange seems to convey all of it, so he continues, “if I took the bite, would all the anxiety, and panic and all that go away?”

“ADHD.”

“That too.”

She studies his face for a long time, like maybe she’s trying to get her banshee on and see if he’d survive the bite, “probably. Do you want it to?”

“I don’t know. I guess it just feels like something that defines me. Or something. My mind runs on high speed all the time and that’s…”

“Not the only reason you’re smarter than the average person.”

“Oh.”

This coming from arguably the only person he knows who is smarter than him on a lot of levels, not that smart can really be quantified, but if he quantified it by grades and scholarships and the regular stuff that society quantifies it by; then yes she is smarter than he is. She’s smarter than every human has a right to be. Well, she’s not fully human, but hey! That means he is the smartest human. So ha! Or not ha! Because that’s kind of a shitty thing to brag about. Or is it? Either way, it’s not the point. The point is, “I want to live out all the days I can with my family. Derek’s been aging slower than me since we met him, so technically it’s like we’re the same physical age, he’s just got that many more years of wisdom and experience on me, but I don’t want to get all old and wrinkly and end up in old man diapers when my kids are still in their physical twenties because they age differently than humans do. It’d be different if they aged like me, like normals, and I was an old man for them to take care of when they’re old and wrinkly themselves. And it’s not like Derek won’t still be there and, I guess I just want the time. I want all the time. Every single bit of time I can have. And the bite would…”

A cacophony of howls interrupts. His breath catches as he watches Lydia, waiting for her mouth to open and a scream to come out. Her eyes get wide before she closes them, but when she opens them again, there’s no sound. 

All the things that have been twisted and clenched and wound up inside of Stiles’ body since the dream-sharing experience last night, or two night ago, or maybe three by now, he’s not even sure, it seems like it’s been half a lifetime that he’s been stuck in the house with Lydia or Melissa or his dad to keep him company and make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid, like try to help. All of those things, just kind of go lax and he’s suddenly so damn tired. Relief swirling around him even if it’s not over yet, he’s got a pretty good indicator sitting across the living room from him right now, and that indicator is indicating that everything is going to be fine. Or at least there will be no death. Not today.

“The bite is something that only you can decide. And only Derek can give you. If he wants,” she shrugs and her entire face lights up when she looks back down at Milo. 

Something Stiles has discovered in the last six months, it’s nearly impossible to have a full conversation with anyone when there are babies in the room. 

——————

Well, turns out when a pack adds three super magical super powerful super baby-pups to the pack, it’s going to attract attention. Good and bad. But with Chris and Allison Argent leading all negotiations with hunters, and with Peter and Scott leading all negotiations with supernaturals; Stiles feels pretty good about the unity of their pack. 

He feels so good about it, in fact, that when the pups are eight months old and he’s grinding back on Derek’s dick long after they’ve gone down for the night, his head nestled against the pillow of his mate’s shoulder, neck bared for all the scenting he can possibly offer, “bite me,” it kind of just falls out. 

Derek’s arms around his body tighten, his hands digging into thighs. There’s no room for air between Stiles’ back and Derek’s chest, “I can’t,” it’s barely a whisper against his sweat damp skin. It trembles, his face buried against Stiles’ neck.

“Why not? I’m right here, I’m asking for it, I’ve been asking for it for months now. I’ve thought about this. For so long,” hands finding his husband’s jaw, giving him the nudge to come out of his hiding spot. Turning his head to find those eyes that are always doing things to Stiles’ heart that no other set of eyes on this earth could possibly do, “I want it. I want to,” it chokes off when those eyes strobe silver, clearing his throat, “I want you.”

There’s a softness, reserved only for times like these, that opens Derek’s face to all the emotions that he won’t speak. A slight smile, his lips on Stiles’ jaw, and a mumbled, “can we finish what we started here first?”

“By all means,” smiling as he grinds back on his lap and watches his eyes roll shut. 

It doesn’t take many more grinds, since apparently offering himself up on a platter like that is kind of a turn on, judging by the way Derek’s dick is responding, jumpy and ready to burst out of the gates like this is some kind of race. 

“I want it now, I want it now,” it’s kind of tumbling through gasps on the crest of the orgasm wave, at the feel of Derek’s lips against his shoulder, teeth running across the meat of his body beside his neck. Like he’s testing it for best mark.

“I can’t lose you,” murmured gently, hands clasping impossibly tighter.

“You won’t, definitely won’t,” pressing his nose and forehead against Derek’s temple, “just do it. I want the bite. I want it Derek.”

And maybe the feel of razor sharp teeth sinking into his skin, tendons, blood vessels; maybe that’s the thing that pushes him over the ledge of the most fantastic orgasm he’s ever had. Or maybe it’s more than that. Maybe it’s what Derek’s dick is doing. Derek’s dick is definitely, um, doing something, it’s doing something it’s never done before. And the pain in his shoulder is throbbing, but watching Derek’s hands, he's seeing the black wispy veins of pain rising up his sinuous forearms.

“Don’t move, don’t move,” it’s like a mantra behind him, flowing all around him, calm but edged with warning, “don’t move,” rising goosebumps on the flesh in front of Derek’s mouth, the flesh that is open now with his mate’s teeth marks. The pain is sharp and intense, it’s falling through his skin and sliding down his insides, meeting Derek’s fingers at his thighs and slipping away into nothingness. 

The mantra shifts from, “don’t move,” to, “I love you. Don’t move. I love you. Don’t move. I can’t hurt you. I can’t bear to hurt you. Talk to me. Please. Don’t move,” it’s all coming out so broken and frazzled sounding and suddenly Stiles can hear his heart beating. Rushing against his back, throwing itself at Derek’s ribcage only to caught by Stiles’ and thrown back impossibly faster. He can feel the breath in Derek’s chest cutting off and fogging with panic. So apparently werewolves still feel every human emotion, that’s cool. 

Oh, shit, he’s supposed to be responding. Derek doesn’t like a quiet Stiles. No one likes a quiet Stiles. Quiet Stiles means something is wrong. And even if he just took the bite from his mate and his mate may or may not be knotting him now, which, who knew? Huh, that’s something he’s going to have to ask a lot of questions about. Or maybe not. Maybe knot. Heh. 

“I can’t, I can’t,” is what it’s turned into now, and he’s trying to readjust his hips and pull out before this gets too far, too much, too big, too, um, knotty. 

“Don’t,” isn’t that nice? Stiles does have a voice, “I want it. Derek. I want you. Everything that comes with you. Everything that comes with being your mate. And if a knot was something I knew was part of the whole taking-the-bite deal, I would have taken the bite years ago,” nudging against Derek’s head with his forehead, “look at me, and stop trying to pull out, or control it, or whatever. Just do it. Tie us up, I want it.”

“I didn’t know,” it’s all breathless. 

So maybe in retrospect, this is a question he should have asked before. Like, ‘hey doc Deaton, if I’m a wolf and my mate’s a wolf, will there be some wolfy things happening in the bedroom? Does his wolf need my wolf in order to do the wolfy things?’. Sure, would have been helpful. But hindsight is twenty twenty. And Stiles’ hindsight is telling him, that yes, he is, in fact, enjoying the hell out of this. Or his hind-end is telling him that anyway. There is so much happening, so much happening right now. His mind is having trouble grasping one and one only. There’s all these senses awakening and he’s not sure what that smell is, but holy Hale it is something alright. It is, a deep breath through his nose, and Derek’s confirmation, “that’s us.”

“Oh my god Derek. It smells like the yard when the Spring blooms are in bloom. And the clean of the creek. And the wind after a rainstorm. And like a hint of lemon. Just a little hint of lemon.”

“That’s you.”

“So I still have anxiety?”

“It doesn’t make you a different person Stiles.”

“I know. Yeah, no, I know that. I just,” looking over his shoulder now, all the grinding has come to a grinding halt and they’re just going to sit here. Sit here with blood on Stiles’ shoulder that Derek keeps looking at like he wants to lick it off. Sit here with cum splattered on Stiles’ frontside, Derek’s hands still grasping tightly to his thighs, little pulses of pain flashing in his veins. Derek’s eyes on his in the darkness. Eyes that are blue and silver and green and brown and all the things that happen in nature. And not in nature. And holy Hale, those orbs are beautiful. When Stiles adjusts to lean closer to him, it pulls at his ass a little and they both flinch, “k, so no moving.”

“No moving,” agreeing. 

“I feel fine.”

“I know,” well, of course he knows, he’s got the black veins to prove it.

“When will my pain eating skills come into effect?”

“You still feel your own pain.”

“I know. Just heal quicker. But when can I take someone else’s pain? Say, a little teething baby. Or a Hulkwolf husband.”

A smile tugs at his lips. A smile. Something that used to be so rare on that face. A smile that Stiles can’t help but lean into. Forehead to forehead. Nuzzling his nose against Derek’s and it sparks all kinds of things in his own body that it never sparked before even if he already understood the whole closeness of it and the ‘I want to share my thoughts with you’ notion behind it, it’s just different now. 

“I love you,” whispering against Derek’s lips. 

Derek doesn’t have to respond. He’s already sitting here taking all of Stiles’ pain. He gave him the bite even if he knew it could end in losing him, he gave him what he wanted. And Derek has already lost so much. So much. 

He doesn’t have to respond, Stiles already knows, he knows. And he knows that Derek is reaching his pain tolerance by taking all of Stiles’, but for Derek, taking that physical pain is easier than having to face all the emotional pain he’s letting filter silently through them. 

He doesn’t have to respond, but he does, “I love you,” it’s broken and spoken through all the ‘this could have gone wrong’ that’s running through his mind, but it’s the truth. And it’s a beautiful truth. One that Stiles will never get tired of hearing. 

Could normals handle this? No, normals could not handle this. Not for a second.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go...


	8. And I Don't Regret A Single Decision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I married a werewolf, and I don't regret a single decision.

And I Don’t Regret A Single Decision

So it doesn’t change him. Not really. Well, not really really. But really. He can run faster, jump higher, all that physical stuff like pinning Derek to the wall when he wants to and that’s pretty damn fun. So much fun. Derek humors him. Because Derek has to. Or because maybe he wants to. He wants to humor Stiles. Oh, he wants Stiles. Now he can smell it on him. And it’s kind of awesome to know the little things he does that turn his husband on. And they’re all the things, all the weird STILES things the he always just assumed everyone hated about him. Those are the things that Derek loves. Loves the most. 

His head still gets crazy sometimes, like that whole rocky road with lots of forks and potholes in it, that just must be the way his head works with or without ADHD. But he also knows that’s the thing that Derek loves the very most. His mind. With or without all the diagnosed bullshit that he’s spent his life resenting but then not wanting to let them go because they’ve just become him and he wouldn’t know who he was without them. Or that’s what he thought anyway. Turns out, he knows exactly who he is. He’s Stiles, of course. Stiles, son on the Sheriff, husband of the most incredible wolf in the land, father of the bravest, smartest, shiftiest little bastards to ever prowl the Earth. Yep, all of that and more. 

He’s also a college graduate now. He’s got a position waiting at the nearly-local FBI office and he’s going to kill it. Not literally. Really, he’s going to kill it in a strictly manner of speaking way. And he’s not going to cheat ever and use his super senses to sniff out a perp. Totally. Really, not going to. What?! He’s not! Well, not like that was part of the oath he took or anything, so… 

He’s not hairier, not really, maybe a little, like maybe a little patch of chest hair. But the rest of him is the same. The same with stronger muscles. Not like bulky muscles, he’s still just a lanky fellow, who can bench press a car now.

“A car, really?”

“What? I could.”

Derek’s eyes roll and his eyebrows are very unimpressed, tipping his head back to drink a long gulp of water. Stiles watches it move down his throat and doesn’t get a boner. He totally doesn’t.

“Stiles.”

Okay, so maybe he does. Well, “what? The kids are outside, um, chewing on each other under the watchful eye of their grandpa, I can see them from here,” flailing his hand out to motion towards the giant window. Yeah, the flailing didn’t exactly go away either. Apparently he’s the clumsiest wolf to ever wolf. But control was strangely easy to learn, “we could bust a nut together real quick and no one would know,” so the sex, all the sex, all the time, is like a new level of awesomeness. And it’s not like wolfy wolf sex all the time either, that’s mostly for special occasions. Or Fridays. But it’s like all the sex because hell, there is stamina. So much stamina now. 

“Stiles.”

“Okay, so there’s really not,” maybe the sex has always been that good. Yeah, it’s definitely always been that good. His eyes scan over Derek’s body, tight t-shirt ringed in sweat, work-out shorts on. He might be licking his lips. And he might be fully saluting from his pants now, “come on, a quick leg humping sesh never hurt anyone.” 

There’s a low growl that emits from that big chest, but the cool thing now, Stiles can totally read that growl. He kind of always could, it’s just even more clear now. And it’s clearly a, ‘let’s hump each other then’, as his head cocks towards the bedroom. 

———————

So Stiles is a twenty-two year old married man. With three kids. Who occasionally take family outings to run and howl through the Preserve under the light of the full moon. And by occasionally he means every full moon. And sometimes when it’s not a full moon. 

Sometimes they catch rabbits. And eat them raw. Which, well, that’s something that they need to break them of. And that’s so not something that normals could handle, thank you very much Lydia! 

But Stiles, he's more than happy to handle it. He doesn't regret a single damn decision he's made. Especially the big ones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Snip, snap, snout this tale is told out. I hope to see you again :) Take care of yourselves and those around you. Hit that kudos button before you go. Thanks!

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos are validation, comments are adored! 
> 
> Stay healthy friends.


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